


Pulchra Tenebris

by Kyndred_Raven (Ravenna_Corvin)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Continuation, Dark, Descent, Drama & Romance, Evolving Tags, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Love Triangles, Possible Spoilers, Post All DLC, Post-Canon, Post-Game, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Trespasser, Trespasser - Freeform, Trespasser DLC, True Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_Corvin/pseuds/Kyndred_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post game]The world’s endless wonders hold no mystery for me save one: How I might protect you - how I might prevent the inevitable tragedy ahead of us. The storm approaches. Everything will change - the land, the people, the misguided faith and ignorance that have held sway for centuries. Battles will rage. Hundreds, thousands, will fall. Though I may wish it, I cannot complete my task alone. Yet, neither can I risk losing you. So tell me, vhenan - how can I keep you safe when you are the only one who can fight beside me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: 06/26/06
> 
> With my current schedule, I aim to update this story at least once a week. Ideally, the day of update should be every Friday or Saturday. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you have some time, please drop me a line or leave a kudos to let me know if you're enjoying the story :)
> 
> Your support makes all the hard work worthwhile.
> 
> For new readers: Pulchra Tenebris was conceived, outlined, and written before the existence of the Tresspasser DLC was revealed. It's a project that I've been working on pretty much since I finished my very first playthrough of Inquisition. I'm pleasantly shocked and surprised to see that there are certain similarities between this cannon DLC and my own story. However, for that reason, I must give a disclaimer:
> 
> Any similarities between Pulchra Tenebris and "Trespasser" are coincidental and are likely results of too much obsessive reading and theorycrafting. Still, if you have not played the DLC, there may be events in this story that some might feel are "spoilers" to Trespasser, though I think that we should be safe. I would rather be safe than sorry.

.

.

* * *

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**Prologue**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Excerpt from the writings of Darius Grille - Rebel, Heretic, and Traitor:**

**[...Date unclear...]**

**.**

**.**

_That morning, the blood red sun scorched the clouds and baked the earth with savage heat as though the Maker himself was filled with fury at the events unfolding before him. On that fateful day, the blade of selfish greed slaughtered justice with indifference. Hundreds bore witness to it, but not a single voice spoke out against the deed. Smoke billowed through the air, vile and black as the souls of those who dared to call this an act of righteousness and justice. Before a motionless sea of eyes and faces, those in power got away with murder and remained unchallenged._

_Now, years later, nothing has changed. The same murderers are still in power. They awaken every morning believing themselves to be untainted despite the fact that they are damned in our eyes. No one speaks of that day. They quake in fear –- terrified that they've angered our God. There is no record of their heinous deeds anywhere, even in the libraries of the largest of our cities. Those who were there, and especially those responsible, would have us believe that the event never took place, but I remember it like it was yesterday._

_The jeering of the crowd. The excitement in their voices. The smell of burning flesh. And the woman, resolute and brave –- masking her terror with untold courage despite her quivering hands and shoulders. The woman who stood for selflessness - who refused to scream even when the chains around her turned a searing orange and melted into her skin._

_You wouldn't think I'd remember as small a detail as her hands, but the image of her long slender fingers and the softness of her wrists has stayed with me despite the many years that have passed since that day. In the hours before dawn, I often thrash in sleep, dreaming of that softness and remembering how I clamped those small and fragile hands in irons._

_The night before the execution of the Herald, I was assigned as the leader of the prison guard. I watched her, hunched and slumped against the mold-covered walls of the dungeon, and wondered what was going through her mind. Was she afraid? Was she angry? After all, many whose lives she'd once saved stood as traitors against her. I was terrified that she would cry, that I wouldn't know what to do if I saw the woman I admired display such a weakness._

_Instead, she prayed._

_At least, I think it was prayer. Cracked dry lips cupped and caressed syllables I'd never heard before. Elven, probably. Her voice was lower than a whisper, so quiet it could be mistaken for a breeze. The sound filled with me guilt; it clawed and scraped at my insides. I was ashamed. My sense of reason dubbed me a coward, and my craven nature bowed its head and forced me to turn away from the woman behind the bars. Something about her resolve refused to leave me be._

_Watching her execution was akin to witnessing a disaster or the struggles of a battlefield. I wanted to stay away from her, to look at anything but her; yet, my eyes refused to budge. She was too engrossed in prayer to see my clumsy glances and awkward stares. Blood stained the coarse white sack that the interrogators forced upon her. Bruises littered her arms and legs. Even through the cloud of mold and mildew that permeated the air, I could smell the stench of rotting fruit the crowd had thrown at her in passing. Her hair hung in tangled hanks down her face, sliced apart until some strands were shorter than others. Skin that might have once been a beautiful ivory now hung limp over prominent cheekbones and bulging ribs._

_Her trial had lasted for weeks, and in all that time she had hardly been allowed to see the light of day. Chantry officials had tortured her, beating her and starving her. It's difficult to say why. I was just an ignorant grunt, a single drop in an ocean of recruits undeserving of facts or explanations_ _. I could only guess at the truth. Perhaps they needed for her to confess to something. Perhaps they wanted her to agree to relinquish some, if not all, of her power as Inquisitor._ _But how could she do that? The Chantry and the rulers of the land agreed to dissolve the Inquisition long ago. Whatever authority and power she held now stemmed from her legend and her deeds, not sanctioned rights. She led because she believed in a cause, and those who followed her did so because they believed in it._

_I remember thinking this a travesty –- that this execution went against everything termed just and good. But back then, I swallowed my shame and obeyed the commands of those above me, fearful the Order would cast me out if I protested. So, I joined the masses in saying and doing nothing to stop what would become the most horrific experience of my life and the catalyst to the storm that followed…_


	2. ACT I: Chapter 1

**.**

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**ACT I: Chapter 1**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**The Truth Behind the Abandoned**  
**By Darius Grille**

* * *

 **[Some pages have been torn out of this tattered and weathered leather tome. The wax has been ripped out of the binding and blood covers some of the parchment. In other places, the entire book is waterlogged and covered in mold.** **Only a bit of text can be made out on a page or two that have survived the damage.]**

* * *

**[…mere 9:51 Dragon…]**

**.**

_Where was the Maker when the Chantry turned on innocents? Where was He when the burnings began? Was He the one who sent the Seekers into our villages? Into our cities? Into our homes and into our lives? The Chantry claimed many things. Prophetic visions. Divine will. Reincarnation. Certainly, the blame for what happened can be laid at their feet._

_In the end, however, it was we who made the decisions. We were responsible because we did nothing to stop them. Nobody was happy, even those who still believed in the Maker and his will. Most of us bowed our heads, hiding and hoping that the storm would blow over. When our neighbors were taken, when the people we loved and cared about were stolen from us, we sat in silence and allowed tragedy to unfold._

_I write this now because I remember that which most will deny ever existed. "The Abandoned" weren't a cult of monsters. They were people just like us who wore masks and were willing to wage war against the Chantry from the shadows. Many claimed their actions to be vile and heinous. Yet nobody says such things about the Chantry. Nobody speaks about the executions,* about the trials, the tortures, and the murders, all performed in the name of a god who left us long ago._

_Ask anyone you know about a village called "Alderdeen". Ask them and see if they remember it. Ask them if they've ever traveled there for trade or walked among its lush fields._

_Then, ask them if they remember the hundreds who were slaughtered there._

_Ask, and if you cannot find an answer, come back here for the truth..._

**[End of Text]**

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The Halla ran through the trees, her heart racing and drumming in a wild and primal rhythm. The sound of her hooves on the snow-covered ground echoed in the forest. As she bounded through the brush, leaping over crisp grass, dull rocks, and frozen branches, an aura of bright emerald followed her progress in ethereal strands.

Magic, some would say. A trick of the eyes, others would insist. In this dead of winter - when the snow covered the land like a thick blanket - spotting any creature proved impossible unless they moved. This doe, however, did not possess any kind of camouflage. Her shining gold fur, horns, and hooves, painted her an easy target for predators both animal and humanoid.

Fortunately, no hunters were around to give chase save for the group of Seekers that she'd left behind on the outskirts of the woodlands. Her journey had taken her far from them, but she still ran, convinced that those who pursued her were monsters and not men. All the while, doubt and fear held her in their icy grip. Did she need hooves for speed, a bear's strength for protection, or a mountain lion's stealth to stay hidden from the Seekers?

From atop a tall pine, a pair of bright grey eyes watched the Halla's progress. Sharp and focused as a hawk's, they noted the limp in her step, the way she favored her right side with every jump. The sky crackled, its maw spewing forth wave after wave of ice and water in the form of a blizzard. The snow covered the doe's tracks as quickly as she made them, hiding the spots of blood that trailed behind her.

If Adane had wanted to, she could have drawn her bow and killed the doe herself. Had been an ordinary Halla, she might have considered it. She hadn't eaten in several days, and her stomach felt as though it was brushing up against her spine. However, the young woman recognized that the emerald mist that ghosted after this creature wasn't a trick of the eyes. It was indeed magic, the rare sort that was only spoken of in tales that Dalish Keepers told curious children around campfires.

Careful not to startle the terrified doe, Adane slid from her perch and padded after her, slipping through the shadows as though she was a part of them. She crept under the low hanging branches of trees, hiding behind the looming form of a crumbling rock formation. Her feet made no sound, her soft leather armor twisting and bending to accommodate her lithe movements. Swift. Silent. Quick as she could manage with a hollow stomach and teeth grinding from the cold. The wind clawed at the gray furs strapped to her shoulders, its merciless claws scraping above and below them in an attempt to get to her skin. Frosty puffs streamed from her lips, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep up with the Halla's mad dash.

After an endless span of time, the animal collapsed, letting out a strangled moan of agony. Beneath it, crimson spread through the snow like ink in water. Its limbs worked to get it back on its feet to no avail. Vibrant green eyes closing, it groaned, shuddered, and went still. Wary of the creature's state of mind, Adane decided to wait and observe her.

Within the hour, the sky darkened and the winds shifted. The storm abated. The Halla took a deep ragged breath and rolled onto her other side. Blood coated her ribs, so sticky that it grabbed onto clumps of dirt and grass. The mud sealed the wound, for the moment, but the injury was grave and the animal would likely perish without tending. Adane forced herself to wait despite the urgency that urged her forward. If she approached the Halla now, she would either attack or run, something that wouldn't benefit either of them. Still, Adane was far from patient, and the long days of tracking and hiding had begun to grind on already frayed nerves.

_If I don't help her now, she will die and everything we have worked for will be lost._

Justifying her impatience made it seem less threatening to the mission at hand. Steeling her resolve, Adane slipped from her hiding place, thinking to make her way to the injured creature. At that moment, she heard the distinct sound of crunching snow. Had an animal had smelled the Halla's blood and thought to find an easy meal? Heart swelling and squeezing up into her throat, Adane retreated to the darkness, wondering if the Seekers chasing the Halla had somehow managed to follow her this deep into the forest. Drawing her poison tipped daggers on instinct, she curled her body into a tense crouch and waited for the right moment to strike.

 _I won't let them touch her again_ \- she vowed in silence.

What appeared from the solid whiteness of the wood was neither a Seeker nor an animal, but a hooded figure, an elf dressed in traveling furs and leathers. No _vallaslin_ marked him as Dalish, yet he looked nothing like a city elf might. He stood taller than any elf she'd ever seen, his shoulders broad, his build sturdy, and his demeanor strong and confident. Armor covered his arms and thighs, gold glimmering in the rays of sun that managed to pierce the thick canopy.

Adane wasn't sure what to make of him. Was he a threat? Should she attack? Seeing the staff in his hand gave her pause. The weapon was finely made - ancient oak shaped with magic into the figure of a woman. In her hands, she held a crystal which glowed with a faint blue light.

A mage.

Was it luck that he had stumbled upon them? Was he a healer? Could he help them?

No. If he was a Circle or a College mage, he was dangerous. An apostate even more so. Worse, if he found out the identity of the creature before him…

Adane's racing thoughts ground to a halt when the mage rested his staff against a nearby tree and leaned down next to the Halla. The animal showed no sign of panic. In fact, she hardly seemed aware of his presence, so lost was she in the pain of her injury and the exhaustion of her escape. The elf's face softened, chiseled handsome features melting into a mask of worry and sadness.

" _Ir enfanim, Hanal'ghilan,"_ he murmured, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the Halla's golden horns. He said something else, something that Adane had no hope of understanding. Removed as she had been for years from her Keeper and other Dalish Clans, she knew precious little of her native language. She could sense the feeling behind his words, however. The twist of his mouth and each of his movements left no room for doubt as to his emotions. Gentle hands helped the Halla rest more comfortably on her uninjured side. A soft, warm, and lilting voice murmured reassurances, his magic serene and quiet as he probed the area around her torn hide. Too weak to resist, the Halla relaxed her corded neck and laid her head upon the ground. Her green eyes, bordered by long thick lashes, fluttered closed.

"Do not sleep," the elf urged in the common tongue, giving the doe a gentle shake. Startled, the Halla turned her head until her eyes met with the mage's. She whimpered, a weak pained sound that pierced straight through Adane's heart. The elf bent forward and pressed his forehead against the animal's.

" _Ir enfanim, ma vhenan,"_ he whispered.

The Halla crooned in reply. In the wake of the mournful tone, the forest went quiet, the only sound that of the winter wind snaking in-between the bark of the surrounding pines. Heavy snow muted the swaying of the trees. Silence cocooned the pair before her, but Adane was certain that they spoke without words. She felt it, though she didn't understand completely. Once, she'd seen her father looking at her mother this way - as though their souls were joined, as though their hearts beat as one.

 _Love._ The word floated through her mind - soft, full of trepidation; a hatchling not yet grown into its feathers. The warmth in the elf's pale eyes and the way he cradled the doe's head with utmost care made her somehow uncomfortable. She wanted to turn away but couldn't. Years ago, she'd sworn off all emotions after the deaths of those in her Clan, never thinking that she would someday wonder what it would be like to experience this kind of caring.

"Come back to me," the mage said, closing his eyes against the Halla's forehead. The faint green aura around the animal intensified until Adane had to look away to shield her eyes. She blinked, and when her eyelids lifted, the golden Halla vanished. In her place lay a young woman with hair as black as onyx and eyes as green as the forest during spring. Silver earrings capped the tips of her ears. The mage tugged off his fur cloak and wrapped it around the shivering naked woman, careful not to jostle her injury.

"S-Solas?" she murmured through chattering teeth. Adane assumed that this was the mage's name. "It can't be. Is it you?"

"It is," he replied, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to each one of her knuckles in turn. He slid her palm against his cheek, and she threaded her fingers into the cloth of his hood, pulling it down. A gust of air left her lips, as though a heavy stone had been lifted from her chest. Heedless of her wound, she threw her arms around the mage's neck and pulled him close.

"I thought…after Corypheus…and the orb…they couldn't find you and…Creators…I…" She shook her head, burying it into the folds of his clothes. "So much has happened…Solas…"

"Faeryn…" he breathed, tasting each syllable as though it was the sweetest wine. He hesitated, however, not returning the woman's embrace. Sensing this reluctance, she pulled back, her eyes wide and glimmering with moisture. The woman's pale face crumpled from wonder and happiness to unforgiving anger. Every second that passed fanned the flames in her eyes.

" _Garas quenathra, harellan?"_ she asked at length, her voice sharpening into a razor's edge. Solas frowned at the final word, disapproving of it.

"Because you needed me," he answered. She pulled her hand from his grasp; pushed against his chest; fought to separate from him as though he was something cursed. Solas held fast, trapping her arms against her side. The green light appeared once more, engulfing her.

"Vhenan, don't - "

His warning fell on deaf ears. Adane blinked again, and for a split second, the woman turned into a dove. She fluttered her wings and tried to fly away, but the mage caught her in his hands before she could get too far. A burst of magic - his magic - ripped through the trees, crashing into the ice trapped among the branches. Adane felt sick; that magic felt like poison in her veins. Snow cascaded around them, and when the dust settled, the dove was gone, transformed back into the raven-haired woman. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, teeth gritted in pain even as she tried to get away. Ignoring her resistance, Solas reached beneath the furs of his cloak and pressed his hand against her wound. As his fingers lit up with emerald magic, she slumped against him and quieted, the relief from agony washing over her exhausted limbs.

"I...needed you…before," the woman said between heavy breaths. "I _don't_ need you…now." Magic rose up around her again, but before she could do or say anything else, Solas cut her off.

" _Hamin,"_ he bit out, his voice as hard as steel. A muscle in his jaw contracted; a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. "No more of this foolishness. Do you want to die?"

"I am already dead," she answered in a lifeless monotone. "Piece by piece. Each time, a little more of me taken. You leaving. The Inquisition failing. Being dubbed a heretic by all those I gave years of my life to save. Now, nothing remains." She looked upwards, towards the green canopy. "No option left but to return to my true home...to the forest…"

"You cannot believe that, _da'len_." He waited for an answer; she refused to give one. For a time, they were both silent, the woman trapped in her own thoughts and suffering as Solas continued to heal her injury. Despite her words, he did not falter. His focus remained on his task, brows drawing together in concentration.

"You won't stay," she reasoned.

"No," he said, the statement curt and abrupt. The word broke something in her.

"Then _why?"_ she groaned. "Why come here at all? Why not just stay away and let me forget? Haven't you done enough? Haven't you hurt me _enough?"_ She balled her hand into a fist and hit his chest. Once. Twice. Solas closed his eyes, the magic fading from his palm. With the same hand, he reached up and pulled the silver cap from her ear, revealing gnarled scarred flesh covered in cauterized tissue and burns. Revulsion knotted in Adane's gut, squeezing the breath out of her. The tips of the woman's ears had been sawed off with a hot knife, shaped to look round like a _shem's_. Her skin hurt just imagining the agony and humiliation of such torture.

"I would _never_ hurt you," Solas said, caressing the hideous scars on the woman's ears. "And I grieve for what has happened to you."

"Don't touch me," she snapped, slapping away his hand and covering her ruined flesh. "Go back to wherever you came from. I don't _need_ you. I _hate_ you. Where were you when the Inquisition crumbled to dust? When the Chantry declared me a false prophet? Where were you when the filthy _shems_ imprisoned me? Where were you when -" She bit at her lip, the waterfall of questions breaking on rocks of fury and distress. "Traitor," she hissed. "Liar. Betrayer. _Harellan_ …" Despite the ugly words and accusations, Solas didn't back away. Instead, he sank his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her against him, silencing the torrent of animosity with his lips.

The woman fought, briefly, but her rage couldn't last. Resistance melted - metal giving way to fire in a blazing forge. The mage caressed her cheek, stroked her hair, and pressed his calloused thumb against her chin, coaxing her to part her lips. He held her in an iron-like hold, quelling all rebellion and leaving no room for protest. Molding and melting. Falling, breaking, shattering. Tongues entwined. Breaths spiraled and careened in the frigid air. He pulled away only to let her gasp in pleasure. When she did, he deepened the kiss, wresting a helpless groan from the woman beneath him.

Adane felt heat creeping up her neck. She'd never seen a kiss so passionate before.

"Don't," the woman gasped when her lips were free again. "Don't do this…" Despite her protests, she kissed him back with equal desire. "Curse you...I hate you…liar…Solas…please… _please_ stay with me," she mumbled between kisses. At last, the mage pulled back, pale eyes as fierce and feral as a wolf's.

"I _can't_ ," he groaned. Her head fell forward to rest against his neck just as his fingers smoothed against her ears. "You are strong, _ma sa'lath. Mala suledin nadas."_

"No. I don't want to endure any more. I _cannot_."

"You _must_. You must be strong to weather the storm that is coming. You are not alone." This time, he did not hesitate. This time, he wrapped her in his arms as though he didn't want to let go. Adane felt her heart drop into her stomach when the mage turned and looked right at her. "There are those who wish to help you, and you must accept their aid. If you are to survive, you cannot continue fighting on your own."

"I never planned to fight. I wanted to return to the forest and living out my life in peace…I am so very tired, Solas."

"Then wait…just a little longer, and I promise…"

"Stop," she cut him off. "Make me no false promises for I won't believe a single one." Her shoulders trembled. "Why did you have to come back? To torture me? Just like those _shems_ …just like the Seekers and…"

" _Ir abelas,"_ he pleaded, capturing her lips once more. He raised his hand and cast some sort of spell next to the woman's cheek. "No more anger, _ma sal'ath._ No more sadness. This is just a dream."

"A dream…" she repeated in a fading voice. Her eyes drooped. Her fingers loosed their grip on his tunic.

"That's right," he nodded, voice tight with masked emotion. "Allow yourself to sleep and rest. When you wake, you will be warm and healing. You will feel strong because there will be those who want to help you. You are not alone."

"I don't want anyone else," she protested, words slurring together. "Solas, I just want…" With that, her body sagged as she fell unconscious. Solas lifted her into his arms. As he stood, he kissed her forehead, nudging her silver earrings back into place to hide her scars. That ache twinged in Adane's chest once more in response to the raw pain reflected on his face. When the mage turned to face her, however, his expression turned neutral once more.

"Come out of there, child," he commanded. Adane hesitated, unsure of his intentions. "Come. Be not afraid. This is why you are here, is it not? You wish to lead the Inquisitor to safety." Daggers still in hand, Adane emerged from her hiding place.

"Don't try anything," she warned, straightening her back and tightening her grip on her weapons. "I've killed plenty of mages before."

"So you have," he agreed.

"I'm serious," she threatened.

"I do not doubt it. You are a capable huntress," he nodded. "Had it been anyone other than myself, I'm certain that they wouldn't have noticed your presence."

"You knew I was here."

"Indeed."

"You didn't say anything." Silence greeted that statement, but Adane couldn't miss the way the muscle in his jaw clenched again. She stole a glance at the Inquisitor's face, serene now in sleep. "She's hurt pretty bad."

"I healed the worst of it. As much as I was able. The rest is up to you."

"Me?" she blinked, surprised.

"There is an abandoned mine shaft not far from here. Long ago, the miners were driven out by a foul creature living in its depths. You can use it as a shelter until she is strong enough to follow you to the place you need to go."

"Sounds like a bad idea," Adane frowned. "What kind of creature?"

"Nothing you should worry about. I've taken care of it." Something flashed in his eyes, an arrogance. Adane pursed her lips and sheathed her daggers. "I will help you reach the shelter," he said. "After that, I must leave."

"Why won't you stay?"

The mage's shoulders stiffened. "I can't. Beyond that, you do not need to know."

"Whatever you say," she shrugged. "I'm not the one that'll be mad when I wake up." In response to Solas's silence, she raised a brow. "Unless you've taken care of that, too."

"Let's go," he said.

"You told her a storm was coming," Adane prodded as he turned to walk away. She hurried to keep up with his long strides. "What did you mean by that?"

"Change is always a storm," he replied cryptically as they began their journey.*


	3. ACT I: Chapter 2

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**ACT I: Chapter 2**

* * *

**Reporting of recorded dialogue pertaining to the former Inquisitor Faerynrae Lavellan**

* * *

**[This small and plain leather bound booklet is full of scribbled scraps of conversations between a plethora of random citizens. The parchment is poor, the binding cheap and flimsy. Certain pages are tagged with crusted red wax. One of these pages in particular attracts attention as it is waterlogged and stained with spots of leaky blue ink.]**

* * *

**Chantry Investigator:** Shar Averill

 **Location:** Shattered Flagon Inn

 **Date:** Verimensis, 9:49 Dragon

 **Note:** Dialect nuances and accents eliminated as needed for clarity of report

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Man 1 (later identified as Ned Barton and hereforth N.B):** I saw her, I did. Swear it on the Maker's arse.

 **Man 2 (later identified as Koby** **"Kobs" Edwards and hereforth K.E):** You blighted liar. Everyone knows she be dead along with all those heretics of the Inquisition.

 **N.B:** Shut your trap, Kobs. I tell you I saw her.

 **K.E:** That sure are you? Have you ever even seen her before? Could have been any elf wench.

 **N.B:** I never saw her in person, before all the Chantry fuss, but I heard of her plenty. This gal fit the descriptions, and she wasn't no elven harlot neither.

 **K.E:** Keep your voice down. You know them Seekers is watching everyone who talks about her.

 **N.B:** Pretty as a painting she was. Eyes like green fire. Black hair what looked violet in the sun. And skin all smooth-like. Smoother than those polished shoes the fancy nobles wear.

 **K.E:** How'd you know her skin was smooth?

 **N.B:** Felt it when she passed me, I did. Brushed against my arm with her little shoulder. Paid me no nevermind, like she was used t'people staring at her.

 **K.E:** Sounds like you need to drink less ale. Dreamin of elven girls now? Yer wife would have a fit. She'll throw you out of the house again.

 **N.B:** It was _her_ I tell ya. Just the other day in town. Bar Golden's run down old medicine shop. Carryin' a sack of some kind with patched up holes all over it.

 **K.E:** Traveling by herself?

 **N.B:** She wasn't alone. Man was with her. Tall. Light haired. Big as an ox and carryin' a shield on his back. Looked like it had seen better days. Gave me a glare like he didn't like me standing around.

 **K.E:** Were you staring at the elf wench's tits and arse?

 **N.B:** Finest I ever saw.

 **K.E:** Could have been why he glared. Was probably his slave or his servant. Didn't want you ogling his property for free.

 **N.B:** I tell you it was the Inquisitor.

.

.

.

* * *

 **[The rest of the page is unreadable, covered in spots of ink and what appears to be spilled alcohol. The words run together, but a few can be made out:** **"Sulcher's Pass", "Orlais", and "suspicion".]**

* * *

.

.

.

.

* * *

"Just die already!" Adane hissed as she plunged her daggers into pale skin and firm sinew. Blood spewed forth in bright red ribbons that splashed hotly onto her arms and neck. The creature beneath her opened its wide maw and shrieked in pain, a pair of large teeth slashing past her arm and breaking skin. It reeked of filth and dried earth, the scent of mildew on its hide a rare spice that strengthened the smell and made her cringe. As the beast gave a final pained shriek and collapsed at her feet, she backed away, gagging and swallowing back a thick lump of saliva. Its white sightless eyes remained open, bloodless lips and matted whiskers twitching.

When she finished wiping the gore off her blades, she sheathed them and looked back towards the mine entrance, where her charge still slept. The Inquisitor - or Faeryn, as Solas had called her - hadn't moved at all since the mage first brought them here. The woman's stone-like stillness worried Adane. The Inquisitor resembled one of the carved marble statues _shems_ placed atop the tombs of their kings, her skin white as alabaster, her hands folded across her abdomen, and her chest hardly moving. More than once, Adane risked getting close to check her pulse, just to make sure she hadn't somehow died in her sleep.

Adane had admired the Inquisitor's strength and courage for much of her childhood, using the woman's legend to keep her going during the darkest times of her life. By the same token, she feared the woman's rumored god-like powers. Not that Adane believed in any gods or whatever _shems_ and elves called them. But, one could never be too careful, especially with startled mages chased by an army of Seekers. The last thing Adane needed to brighten her week was a terrified Inquisitor turning her into a squealing nug or blowing her to smithereens because she thought her an enemy.

Adane examined the shallow cut on her arm. The wound needed bandaging. She stole a glance at her slain foe, a giant mole-rat that had come from the depths of their temporary shelter. Solas assured her this place was safe and vacant, yet this wasn't the first time she'd had to fight off rats, spiders, and even the occasional Deepstalker. The presence of those nasty reptiles worried her, for they lived in areas close to the Deep Roads. How far down did this mine stretch? As one who hated small enclosed spaces, Adane wasn't willing to find out.

Just then, her stomach churned, reminding her of her hunger. She examined the dead mole-rat again. Food was scarce in this season, especially for travelers like her. The creature's meat would be tough and bitter, but cooked and preserved with the right skills, it could last her for another two or three days. She hoped by then, the Inquisitor would awaken and they could head towards the nearest town. If not…well…at that point, she might just have to risk waking her up by force. Staying here wasn't smart, especially when recent cloud signs foreshadowed another snowstorm.

 _Mole-rat_ _for dinner_ \- Adane stuck out her tongue in displeasure. She'd eaten worse things in leaner times, she supposed.

"Andraste's flaming buttocks," she grumbled, "I hope I don't regret this." Removing a length of rope from her pack, Adane approached the carcass and tied several knots around its grizzled hairless legs. Frowning and grimacing in disgust, she hauled it towards the campfire and began the long process of skinning it. As before, no matter how much noise she made - inadvertently or otherwise - the Inquisitor's eyes remained closed.

"You're lucky you can't smell this," she told the sleeping woman, holding up one of the animal's legs. As usual, silence greeted her in reply. "Seriously. You'd think this bugger lives in a waste pile. I'll bet this blighted thing _eats_ waste, too. Ugh…" As she went about her task, Adane continued to speak with her charge. The time long passed since she felt odd about doing so. Besides, it amused her to imagine how the fabled Inquisitor might respond to her clumsy attempts at conversation.

By the time Adane finished preparing the animal for cooking, night had fallen. Seeing as the campfire thrashed in the throes of death, the girl snuck out of the mine to gather some fresh firewood. Cooking her catch didn't take long. Though the mole-rat's scratchy hide smelled like a filthy flea-bitten bog, its flank and thigh meat were rather tender and satisfying. Some salt would have helped. Or any kind of spice in general. Survival was far from a cushy business, though, and after many years of scraping by to stay alive, Adane grew used to eating distasteful things if it meant making it through one more day.

_Like that time Soren and I got lost near the Emerald Graves._

Adane shuddered at the memory.

"I bet you'd cringe at the thought of eating this kind of rubbish, Your Worship," the girl smiled. "As the Inquisitor, you probably got to eat the nicest things in Thedas. Anything you wanted. Even Raisin Tea Bread." She licked her lips at the thought, her stomach gurgling. "I had that once, you know. Back when I was doing a job for some high and mighty nobleman." She reflected on that time in her life, when things were hardest and she didn't know where she would rest her head from one day to the next. That was over a year ago now. Things had changed, as had the world. Nothing made sense anymore.

Wherever her thoughts would have led her next, their flow was derailed when her charge suddenly opened her eyes with a violent gasp. The woman cried out in distress and sat up, breathing hard and fast, like she'd been running for hours. Eyes wild, she searched the space around her for a weapon, her hands shaking. Adane was so startled that she dropped her stick of meat into the dirt, backing up and drawing her daggers on instinct. The Inquisitor's eyes landed on her, an emerald fire burning in their depths. She scowled, raising her hands in defense. _This_ was _exactly_ the situation Adane wanted to avoid. A scared mage was as unpredictable as winds in a storm.

"Now just hold on a minute, Your Worship," she stumbled over her words. "It's alright…there's nothing to be - "

"Where am I? What is this place?" the Inquisitor demanded. "Who brought her here? Have the _shemlen_ taken her? She'll kill them this time. Kill them all before they hurt her again."

"She? Who are you talking about?" Adane asked, pressing her back further against the wall. The woman looked stark raving mad, going on as she was.

"The Halla," she ground out. "They were chasing her. Through the forest. Shouting. Over and over. Heretic. Heretic. Heretic…" Her hand rose to cover her forehead and grip her inky black hair so hard Adane feared she might rip it out. The woman rocked back and forth. The rest of her words resembled nonsensical muttering. "With burning torches…bloody swords…taking her magic…taking her power…hurting her…" She shook her head and rubbed at the silver caps on the tips of her ears.

Then, her head snapped up, realization in her eyes. "No. No. Not the Halla. Me. It was _me!_ " She looked at her hand. "Not the Halla…or the bear…or the lion…"

Adane struggled to understand what the woman was talking about.

"I have to…go back…yes...go back to the forest…" The Inquisitor tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She collapsed to the ground, her hand so near the fire that Adane bit her lip in anticipation of disaster. Unaware of how close she'd come to severely burning her arm, the woman grabbed at her side, spots of blood soaking through her tattered tunic.

"You shouldn't move around," Adane bit out past her own trepidation, keeping her voice soft and low. She'd never really comforted anyone before, especially someone who seemed so confused and out of their mind.

Adane's words seemed to snap the Inquisitor out of her trance. "And who are _you?_ " she asked, her green eyes blazing.

"Adane. I'm Adane."

"What do you want with her…me…with _me_ …"

"I found you in the forest. You were hurt."

"And I suppose you brought me here out of the goodness of your heart…" the Inquisitor said, bitterness thick in every word.

"I…" Lying felt wrong in this case, yet the mage made her swear not to mention his role in all this. Steeling herself, she continued. "I know who you are, Inquisitor."

The fire in the woman's eyes turned to fear.

"Please, I'm not one of the people who are chasing you. I brought you here because I want to help you."

"Help," the woman echoed. "Forgive me if I choose not to believe you," she sneered.

"If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it by now."

"Death would be a kindness. No doubt you wish to claim the bounty for bringing me alive to those demons in the Chantry. Well, I won't go," she warned. "I'll die by my own hand before I go back to that abyss." Scrambling back on her hands and knees, she lifted shaking hands to her throat. Green light jumped to her fingers. Panicking, Adane dropped to the ground, trying to appear less threatening. She made a show of sheathing her daggers, removing her belt and kicking it far from her reach.

"I'm unarmed, Inquisitor," she said.

The woman hesitated, tilting her head to the side. "You have seconds to explain what I'm doing here before I bring this whole cavern down on our heads."

"I found you. In the forest. You were hurt," Adane rambled, her words stuck in her throat.

"How long ago was that?"

"You've been asleep for nearly two days. Please believe me. I want to _help_ you."

"Why?" the Inquisitor asked, raising a brow. Adane lifted her palms in a universal gesture of peace. Somehow, the woman reminded her of a frightened animal just now. As she observed her body language, the girl couldn't help but remember the Inquisitor in her Halla form.

"Lots of reasons. I can tell you, if you want, but you should lie back first before you tear open that cut."

The woman glanced at her side, noticing the fresh bandaging wrapped around her torso. "You did this," she observed.

"Yes."

"You've been here all this time?"

"Yes." When the woman lowered her arms a little, Adane scooted closer to her. "Please lie down, Inquisitor. I only have a few bandages left, and we need those to get to the village."

"The village?"

"I'll explain everything," Adane promised. Though the Inquisitor still looked suspicious, she took the girl's advice. With gritted teeth and a small sound of pain, she rolled onto her back, fingernails digging into the cloth of her tunic. "Sorry if it's too small," Adane pointed out. "It was the only thing I had to spare. You're a bit taller than me," she finished, looking at the way her pants only reached down to the woman's shins.

The Inquisitor turned to her, not saying a word. She examined her as she might have scrutinized prey on a hunt. First, she glanced towards Adane's discarded dagger belt. Then, she met her gaze head on. After a while, she nodded in satisfaction. Though her demeanor was still tense, she let out a shaky breath.

"If you're so small, how did you carry me here?"

Adane crouched down and leaned against the wall of the cavern, relieved she could speak to the Inquisitor without fearing for her life. She made circles in the dirt with a finger as she thought about what to say. "What do you remember, Inquisitor?"

"Stop calling me that," the woman snapped. "It's long past the time when I held such a title."

"What do I call you, then?" Then with some shyness - "Faeryn?"

The woman's body went rigid. Her gaze snapped to Adane's, eyes turning hard as ice. "Where did you hear that?" she rasped, her voice menacing.

"I…um…well, when people talked about you, they mentioned your name…"

"Don't lie." The words were like a slap in the face. Adan felt heat rise to her cheeks. The Inquisitor turned away, her gaze rising to an unknown point on the ceiling. She pursed her lips. "So…it _wasn_ _'t_ a dream after all."

"A dream?" Adane repeated.

"She was running through the forest," the woman began.

There went that "she" again. Adane assumed the Inquisitor meant herself.

"It was dark and cold. She was scared. Tired. So very alone. There was no one around, nobody who would care if she perished in that forest or not." Her voice took on a softer quality. She sounded younger now, like a lost child. "The Seekers were so close, like the tide pressing in on the shore. She ran and ran, but the wound…the cut…" Her fingers pressed and prodded at her side. " _My_ wound," she reminded herself. "She…I…fell. I saw the sky. I waited for death. And then…"

"And then?" After several moments of silence, the Inquisitor turned back to her.

"You tell _me_ ," she challenged. "You were the one who found me." Adane hated telling falsehoods, but she acknowledged she was good at it. In her trade, fabricating a good lie was as valued a skill as sneaking through the darkness and opening doors that shouldn't be opened. However, for some reason, she found herself struggling to lie to the Inquisitor. Something about her eyes left room for nothing but truth.

"Inquisitor…"

"That name you said before…"

"I didn't…"

"Say it again."

Adane bit the inside of her cheek but complied. "Faeryn?"

"That name," the woman frowned. "You didn't hear it from rumor. You couldn't have because there is only one person who calls me by it."

Adane let out a pent up breath, frustrated. She'd been working for days on a story to tell the Inquisitor when she woke up. It was a good one, too. About how she'd tied her body to a piece of bark and dragged her through the snow to safety. About how she'd fought tooth and nail through the cold and rain to find this shelter. About how she'd held off a bunch of spiders and rats and Deepstalkers to keep them safe.

 _This is a Maker-damned mess_ \- she thought with an exasperated sigh.

"It was _him,_ wasn't it?" the Inquisitor demanded.

 _Why should I cover for that arrogant elf?_ \- Adane asked herself tersely. _He didn_ _'t even thank me for helping her. Then, he just dumped all of this on me without even starting a fire. He could have done it in a flash with his magic. Instead, I had to freeze my knickers off gathering firewood._

"…snow even in my underwear," she grumbled under her breath. The girl snuck a peek at the Inquisitor's face. The raven-haired woman stared at her, expectant and irritated. Her intense green eyes stole Adane's breath away and made her heart pound.

"It was the mage," she admitted. "I think you called him Solas."

The Inquisitor nodded. Adane returned to making circles in the dirt. Her fingers tingled as she used them to grind small pebbles into the ground. "Dunno what you see in him," she blurted out. "He's handsome, sure, but he left you here when he could have - " Adane stopped when she saw the woman's expression shift. Anger to pain - the same raw pain she'd glimpsed on Solas's face after he magicked the Inquisitor to sleep.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"It's alright," the Inquisitor sighed. "Whatever you wanted to say about him, you're probably right."

"Why d'you like him then?" Adane asked.

"I don't know if I can answer that," the Inquisitor admitted with a wince. She shifted her position to take some pressure off her side.

Adane's dirt circles grew larger. "Um…so…what should I call you?"

It took some time, but the woman did eventually reply. "Adane, is it?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, Adane. For now, just call me Faerynrae."

* * *

.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

.

"So, where are we going, exactly?" Faerynrae asked as she and Adane made halting progress through the snow. The storm hadn't caught up to them yet, but the terrain was still difficult to navigate. Faerynrae's injury didn't help matters. Though they'd found a large branch she could use for support, their pace was still too slow for Adane's liking. Periodically, she examined the clouds and observed the direction of the wind, not wanting to be caught unaware when the storm finally hit. Her eyes sought out potential shelters, scanning the forest for caverns or hollow pines.

"We're going to Alderdeen," Adane answered, somewhat distracted. "The village is not far from here. They'll have supplies we can use." She padded over to the Inquisitor and took her arm, wrapping it over her shoulder. Hunched over as she was, they were both close in height now. "Here, lean on me." Their pace increased marginally. Out of the corner of her eye, Adane saw fresh blood soaking through bandages she'd wrapped only hours prior.

"Alderdeen…" Faerynrae said breathlessly. "That's a trading post not far from Sulcher's Pass, isn't it? I've seen the name during my time at Skyhold."

Adane nodded. Not surprising that the Inquisitor knew of the remote town.

"I do not think a village is such a good idea," Faerynrae frowned. "There will be Seekers there. Too many for us to just walk in unnoticed." Her voice lowered. "They know my face. I can promise you that."

"Don't worry," Adane said with confidence. "Someone's meeting us there. A mage. He can help us get in unseen."

"A _mage_?" Faerynrae paused mid-step, leaning heavily on her makeshift staff.

"Yes. He's really good at illusion magic, especially hiding from things like Seekers and such."

"You _can't_ be serious," Faerynrae protested. "Surely you know that mages cannot be trusted, especially after what happened with the Circles."

"This one can," Adane insisted. "He's not with the Circles or the College."

"Then he's an apostate," Faerynrae concluded with disapproval.

"So is your rude elf friend."

"He's…different."

"So is Warren," Adane argued.

"Warren?"

"You'll see. You'll understand when you meet him." They resumed their walk, the Inquisitor's breathing growing ragged. Beads of sweat built up on her forehead, her skin steadily losing color. Waves of heat rolled off Faerynrae's body, fever setting in and sapping her strength. They needed to keep a steady pace if they were ever going to reach the village at this rate.

"You never did explain...why you were so graciously...lending me your aid, Adane," the Inquisitor ventured between huffs and labored breaths.

"It's a long story," Adane admitted, wincing at the sarcasm in the woman's voice. So, the Inquisitor still didn't trust her. Not surprising, but somehow disheartening.

"I'd say we have time," Faerynrae said with a half-hearted grin. "Regale me, _da_ _'len_."

" _Da_ _'len_ ," Adane repeated. Her heart skittered at the elven word.

"Yes. Surely you are familiar with the term. You speak like a city elf, but you are not one of them." With her free hand, she reached over and brushed aside the girl's bangs. "No _vallaslin_. Either you're too young or -"

"No," Adane cut in. "It's just…been a while since someone called me that. I was surprised is all."

"Does it offend you?"

"No, it's…familiar and…" _Warm._ Not that Adane could tell the Inquisitor why. "I haven't been in a Clan for lots of years now." The Inquisitor didn't ask why, and Adane was grateful. She preferred not to think about the past. As they tromped through the snow, Adane tried to explain her situation as best she could.

"When you became Inquisitor, things changed. The things you did - for the elves and for Thedas - were really amazing. I wished I could know you or even meet you. Sometimes, I thought about what it might be like to talk to you. I thought maybe if I did, my life might change somehow." She grimaced. "Then everything fell apart. The Breach closed, but things didn't get better. I heard about…" she glanced at the Inquisitor to gauge her reaction.

The woman's face was calm. Neutral. Taking another breath, Adane continued. "I heard about what happened. About the Seekers catching you, and about the Chantry chasing you. I heard their nonsense about the Maker and his orders."

"Do you believe it?"

"No. I don't really think that there are things like gods and the like. Seems like the Chantry's just jealous of you and wants you out of the way."

"So you pity me," the Inquisitor frowned.

"Yes, but that's not why I wanted to help. I just…" Adane hesitated. "I just think the we need the Inquisitor. And the Inquisition. What the Chantry's doing is wrong."

 _Coward_ \- Adane's mind chastised. _That_ _'s not what you wanted to say._

"That's quite noble of you, Adane," Faerynrae acknowledged. "However, I cannot accept your help. Once we reach the village, I will take my leave and continue my journey alone."

"What?" Adane ducked out from under Faerynrae's arm. The Inquisitor's words set her off balance. " _Why?_ _"_

"Various reasons. For one, I won't allow you to involve yourself in my troubles and affairs." Realizing how that sounded, Faerynrae softened her tone and approached the girl. She put a hand on her head and ruffled her bright golden hair. "Forgive me, _da'len_. Don't think I'm ungrateful or unappreciative of your assistance and your courage. You are young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Don't squander it."

The bitterness in the woman's words took Adane's breath away. She'd imagined speaking with the Inquisitor many times over the years, had wondered what she would be like. None of her imagined scenarios ever ended with this sort of rejection. "I want to help you," Adane protested.

"You have to understand how much you are putting at risk…"

"I do!"

"You _don_ _'t."_

"I'm not a child," Adane hissed. "I've been on my own since I was thirteen. I've seen more than my share of scum. I've dealt with things you can't even imagine and done things that..." she trailed off.

 _Just tell her. She won_ _'t understand until you tell her._ Despite the urging of her reason, Adane's jaw clamped shut, fear and shame stoppering the truth like wine in a bottle.

"Others have tried to help me before." Faerynrae's eyes misted over. "Others were willing to take the risk." She looked down at Adane and hardened her voice. "Now, they hang from Chantry nooses, their bodies food for the crows. Some were smarter. Some ran, and rightly so. But those that have been lost can never be brought back. Let me assure you, _da'len_ , they did not go into the afterlife quickly or painlessly."

"That _won_ _'t_ happen to me."

"I can't let you take that risk."

"You can't stop me," Adane challenged. "You either accept my help or you reject it and watch me die trying."

Faerynrae's eyes slid to the ground. "You are passionate about your beliefs, like I was once - like those who tried to help. We fought the inevitable, believing we were stronger united. In the end, as I watched my friends perish, I understood that the only way to do anything is to accomplish it alone."

"You can't scare me with your stories," Adane said. "And you're _not_ alone."

Faerynrae snorted. "Right. You're my ally. A silly little girl looking for adventure - "

"It's _not_ just me!" the girl snapped. "It's lots of other people, too." She grabbed the Inquisitor's arm and ducked under it again, urging them to move forward.

"There are others?" Faerynrae wondered, clearly displeased.

"There are. In every city. Every village. Every dark place where the Chantry's goons are too stupid to look. Everywhere we can hide."

Faerynrae frowned. "And what is it you want from me?" she asked. "To become the Inquisitor again? To rebuild the Inquisition? Do you undenrstand what that means? It isn't that simple." She shook her head then looked to the sky. "It's never that simple."

Adane didn't know what to say. Whatever she'd expected from the Inquisitor, it wasn't this… _hopelessness_. Faerynrae's glittering earrings caught her eye. She recalled the burns and scars that were hidden beneath the subtle beauty of the silver. What had the _shemlen_ done to her in the months of her imprisonment? Had they broken her so completely? Except for moments when she was angry or sad, her eyes were lifeless. Dead. And Solas. What did he have to do with all of this? Was he a part of the reason she seemed so hollow? It was almost as though someone had reached in and scraped out her soul.

 _I can_ _'t give up_ \- she decided. _She_ _'s hurting now, but when she sees everyone who's depending on her, she'll come around. I swore to help her. I swore to protect her. And that's what I'll do._

"Please, Faerynrae," Adane said softly. "Come to Alderdeen. Meet with Warren. He'll talk to you. He'll _show_ you why we need you. Then you'll see you're not alone. You don't have to do this by yourself."

"I won't stay there," Faerynrae promised.

"Just until your wound is healed," Adane pleaded. "Just until then."

"Until then," the Inquisitor nodded. "Then I will leave and you will be safe."


	4. ACT I: Chapter 3

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**ACT I: Chapter 3**

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

**From Chantry Records**

**Written Exchange with Alderdeen Based on Suspicion of Heresy and Treason**

**Dates:** From Cassus 9:48 Dragon to Eluviesta 9:49 Dragon

**.**

* * *

**[This letter is inked on the finest of parchments, the left side of which is threaded with golden string. The top right corner is marked with a thick wax seal in the shape of a golden sun.]**

.

**Letter 22: Addressed to Mason Rodellus Pickett (Full legal name 'Torold Page')**

**.**

Mayor Pickett,

It was an honor meeting you in person after all of our communications. Though I am far from Alderdeen now, word has reached me of your cooperation with our investigation of your fair city. I've also heard that you are offering the best possible hospitality to our agents in the Worn Blessing. With its fine dining, unique entertainment, and the courtesies granted to members of the Chantry, I will not soon forget the wonders of this historic tavern.

As you know, those who oppose the Chantry and the Maker are still at large, and we want to be thorough in our endeavor to protect the people from their violent and heretical rebellion. I have dispatched another regiment to assist our men in safeguarding Alderdeen from those who may seek to do it harm. Your city now holds a special place in my heart, as does our friendship. Your efforts to further our cause have not gone unnoticed. As long as you continue being as helpful and as passionate about our interests in the South as you've been these past weeks, I will do all in my power to ensure that Alderdeen continues to thrive as a center of true faith and splendid trade.

Please, send my warmest regards to your lovely daughter. The memory of her piety still warms my heart. Though our time together was short, I feel that we struck quite a bond. I hope to see her when I visit again.

Ever your friend,

Cleric Matthius Dalton Arlington

[ **END OF TEXT]**

* * *

.

.

.

.

* * *

After their tentative agreement, Adane and Faerynrae traveled in what she could only describe as awkward silence. The Inquisitor still harbored second thoughts about traveling with her to Alderdeen. Despite her promise to stay with her and Warren until she was healed, she kept looking to the trees, a deep and powerful longing in her eyes. The night before, Adane found herself unable to sleep, worried that she would wake up to find the elven woman gone. She kept watch until dawn, her body tense and her thoughts racing with ways to convince the Inquisitor to stay if she wanted to change her mind.

Adane hoped that keeping busy would take some of her worries away, but there was little for her to do. She thought to cover their trail to thwart anyone still looking for the former Inquisitor, but Faerynrae walked through the forest like a ghost, leaving no tracks and no trail — not even snapped branches or flattened grass. It seemed as though her wounds hardly impeded her ability to move unseen. She might as well have been the wind. Adane prided herself on being an accomplished huntress, but Faerynrae moved with an almost unnatural grace that even the best of hunters would have envied. She thought to keep herself occupied with catching dinner, but when Adane captured a rabbit in a snare for them to eat, Faerynrae refused to touch it, explaining that she had no liking for the taste of meat.

Sunlight and warmth tamed the snowstorm two days after they left the mine shaft behind them, but the friendlier weather did nothing to improve the silence. Aside from things that needed to be talked about related to their travel or safety, the only time they spoke more than a few words was when Adane inspected the Inquisitor's wound, using what little supplies they had to clean it. Adane was surprised at how quickly the injury began to fester. She desperately wished that she hadn't left her alchemy pack with Warren in town. Faerynrae, though exhausted and barely limping forward at times, seemed to grow stronger as the hours went by. Her condition worsened, but determination drove her now, a feeling that Adane recognized as the raw instinct to survive.

Despite her concern and a pressing need to get to Alderdeen as soon as possible, Adane stopped them on a rise above the city to scout out the dangers of the gates. They crouched down below the level of the waist-length dried grass and tried to scope out the risks of entering without being seen. What Adane observed down below made her run her fingers through her hair and scratch at her arms to rub out the antsy itch of irritation.

The gates of Alderdeen swarmed with tension and malcontent. Where before, merchants and visitors could pass in and out of the gates with relatively little interference, now at least seven towering Seekers in shining silver armor stood at each set of colossal double doors to the city, ready to interrogate any who petitioned for entry. Heavy helmets hid their expressions, but seeing their faces wasn't necessary to observe that the soldiers were agitated and on edge. They inspected carts, dumped spices and herbs from their respective containers, and rummaged through everything, often breaking things or causing damage to fragile or perishable goods. Merchants and citizens alike were harassed in ways that she'd never seen before.

Adane had known that getting into the city would be difficult, but she hadn't counted on it being _this_ hard. When she'd left to find the Inquisitor, Alderdeen had fairly light patrols. One or two Seekers per gate at most. This was new; this was bad. Jittery and annoyed, she stole a peek at her companion. The Inquisitor did _not_ look happy.

"Well," Adane said, trying to keep her voice light, "the Mayor can't be too pleased about this. All this fuss is gonna scare off the traders, and that's not good. Most of the town's coin comes from the carts brought in from Orzammar." She waited for Faerynrae to say something, and when she stayed quiet, Adane began to pick and tear at the grass under her hands, biting at the corner of her lip. "This is stupid," she huffed, "why are they being so overbearing?"

"They know I'm close," Faerynrae murmured beside her. The Inquisitor was crouched down too, her lithe body hidden in the brush as she observed the heavy patrols and their actions. Eyes sharp and wary, she reminded Adane of a cat on the hunt.

"How would they know where you are?"

"The chase. They must have seen me heading in this direction. Though they lost me in the forest, they guessed I was going to head this way eventually." She gave a short frustrated sigh and shook her head. "This is most unwise. If we go anywhere near those gates, we'll be caught. I don't think I'll be able to follow you after all, Adane."

"Don't say that." Adane grabbed Faerynrae's arm and rushed to slide in front of her. She tried to block her line of sight, but the Inquisitor simply moved to look over her shoulder. "Don't let this put you off coming with me. Warren's waiting for us. He'll know what to do."

The Inquisitor glanced at her, eyes filled to the brim with doubt and something else — disbelief, maybe. The look seemed to pierce right through her, but Adane held her ground despite the intimidating expression.

"You put quite a bit of trust into this _mage_ ," Faerynrae frowned.

Adane pursed her lips. "What does it matter if he's a mage or not?"

"It matters," Faerynrae replied. "More than you think."

"Solas is a mage, too," Adane countered. "You trust _him_ , don't you?"

"No," the Inquisitor answered without a trace of hesitation. Her frigid tone gave Adane goosebumps. "I _love_ him, but I don't _trust_ him. Not anymore, and never again."

Adane frowned. "How can you love someone without trusting them?"

"Let's move on," the Inquisitor said, shuffling back. "I don't like this situation, and I'm not about to walk right into such an obvious trap."

Just as she started to stand, something caught Adane's eye. A small dark spot appeared in the sky and circled down towards them. Adane squinted to make out the shape and breathed out in relief when she recognized it. It was a tiny black bird. Fluttering its fragile wings, it landed soundlessly at the Inquisitor's feet.

"Strange," Faerynrae pondered. "Isn't it afraid of us?"

"No," Adane smiled. "This isn't a bird." She leaned down, capturing the small creature between her palms. As she brought it close, she whispered - "It's me, Warren" - and the bird chirped in response. It extended a fragile scaly leg, revealing a tiny black vial tied to it with fine metal wire. "It's a message," Adane explained, excited. "Here, hold her still," she said, extending her arms so that Faerynrae could help. Her curiosity piqued, the Inquisitor held the bird steady as Adane slipped the vial from its leg. As soon as this was done, the bird chirped again and flew off, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"How peculiar. I've never seen that sort of magic."

"It's not peculiar. It's brilliant, actually," Adane said, working to open the container. "I knew Warren might send her if we ran into trouble. He's clever, but there's no way he can meet us or help us with this many Seekers out and about."

"Are you certain that you aren't in love with this mage?" Faerynrae ventured. She gently elbowed Adane in the side. "The way you've been defending and complimenting him…" she trailed off there. If it wasn't for the light note of humor in her voice and the faint sparkle of mischief in her eyes, Adane might have been offended at her implication.

"No. I'm not," she replied honestly, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm not interested in silly things like that."

"Silly?" the Inquisitor blinked, raising a brow.

"Love brings nothing but trouble. Besides, Warren only beds girls he can forget about the next day."

"Love isn't defined by physical intimacy," Faerynrae said.

"It is from what I've seen. Men swear up and down they love a girl, but they only want to bed her. When they've gotten what they wanted, they throw her out on her rear end. If she's lucky, he'll toss her a coin or two for supper."

Faerynrae's expression hardened. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to lie very well if the Inquisitor began asking too many questions about her bitter tone of voice, Adane made sure _not_ to look her in the eye. She fiddled with the object in her hands, letting out a small sound of triumph when she managed to pop it open with a fingernail. Careful not to damage it, she tugged a thin length of parchment from within. She recognized the curves and slants of Warren's neat penmanship right away.

"The blind prince tires of praying by the moonlight," Faerynrae read out loud, leaning in close to inspect the parchment. Adane caught a whiff of sweet-smelling Elfroot from her bandages and a woody mysterious scent that made her momentarily forget about what she was doing. It reminded her of home, of bright campfires and of Dalish tales shared around them. Unaware of Adane's discomfort, the Inquisitor turned, their cheeks brushing together in the barest of touches.

"Do these words mean anything to you, _da'len_?" Faerynrae asked. Her intense and focused gaze made Adane's chest tighten. At this distance, Adane could have sworn that she could see a ring of gold shimmering in the center of the Inquisitor's vibrant emerald eyes. She'd never seen such a depth of green before, but it wasn't just the color that fascinated her. It was the fire within, the spark of wisdom and intelligence.

"It's a coded message," Adane choked out past an uncomfortable lump in her throat. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly embarrassed. This wasn't the first time she'd been so close to the Inquisitor, but before this moment, Adane hadn't really taken note of how beautiful the elven woman was. Her features were striking: high cheekbones, a straight delicate nose, and graceful eyebrows that rose like wings above her large eyes. The twists and curls of the _vallaslin_ on her face accented the exotic slant of her eyes and the long lashes that framed them.

"Coded? Is that how you communicate?" Faerynrae looked thoughtful. A furrow cleaved her brow.

 _Will I be like her one day?_ Adane wondered. _Could I be like her?_

The answer was obvious. Of course not.

Adane's redeeming qualities were few and far between. She definitely wasn't pretty, and she didn't have a way with words like Warren and the Inquisitor. When they talked, they could hold people's attention and earn their respect right away. At least, from her own perspective. When Adane opened her mouth, however, anyone who listened knew that she'd grown up around slums, peasants, and cut-purses. She thought of what the Inquisitor had said about love and guessed that, if anybody knew what that sort of nonsense was all about, it was probably her. As the Inquisitor, a lot of people needed her and loved her. Even now, when so many claimed to hate her, even more wanted her to lead them. They _needed_ her, maybe even more than they needed their Maker or their Kings.

Suddenly, Adane couldn't help remembering the way Solas had kissed Faerynrae in the snowy forest — the way he held her against him as though she was the most precious thing to him in all the world. Unbidden, her gaze fell to the Inquisitor's lips. They were pink and soft, marred only by a tiny scar just above the gentle curve of her chin. Entranced, she watched them move to form words.

"Adane? Are you alright?"

"Yes," she cleared her throat. "I'm fine."

"You looked lost in thought. Can you understand the code?"

"You're very pretty," Adane mumbled before she could stop herself, tearing her eyes away from Faerynrae's mouth. The Inquisitor looked confused at first. She blinked a few times without understanding. Then, her features softened into a blinding smile, blood rushing to her cheeks. Her gaze bounded away from Adane's like a frightened rabbit hopping away from perceived danger. "Sorry," Adane mumbled lamely, feeling her face burn. "I don't know why I…ah!" Before Adane could finish her awkward apology, Faerynrae wrapped her uninjured arm around her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" the girl stammered. Faerynrae's unique woody scent enveloped her, reminding her of more things from her past that she wanted to forget. Yet, the reminder wasn't painful this time. It was warm and pleasant, like an ocean breeze. Magic warmed her skin, humming just beneath it and stirring the fine hairs on her arm into movement. She recognized it from years past. It was familiar and comforting Dalish magic. Adane realized that Faerynrae had been trying to heal herself all these days. It was probably the reason she hadn't collapsed up until now, though she didn't understand why the wound still troubled her if she was working to heal it.

" _Ir abelas, lethallin_ ," Faerynrae murmured against Adane's bright hair. As soon as the embrace came, it was gone, leaving Adane feeling somehow empty and sad. Strange. She usually hated it when anybody touched her, even Warren. Oblivious to the chaos her actions had set in motion, Faerynrae ruffled Adane's bangs, her eyes misty. "I'm sorry," the Inquisitor repeated in the common tongue. "For a moment, you reminded me of someone."

"Someone?" Adane echoed. "Who?"

"Someone I loved very much."

"Solas?" Adane grimaced, incredulous and somewhat offended at the thought of the Inquisitor hugging her while thinking of that man. Faerynrae chuckled, covering her mouth with a hand so that the sound wouldn't carry. When those bright green eyes weren't dead — when they were full of happiness and light — the Inquisitor looked almost ethereal. Fading sunlight streamed through the swaying branches above them, bouncing through the woman's raven hair and lighting it up with thin lines of violet.

 _This is the woman I expected to meet,_ Adane thought with a rush of excitement. _This is the woman I admire._

"No, not Solas…" the Inquisitor smiled.

"But you said…"

"He isn't the only one I love. There are others, too, most of whom are gone now," the Inquisitor said, her smile wan and tired. Adane was surprised to see that the mention of the elven mage didn't sadden her as much as before. Odd, for up until now her behavior suggested that she felt a lot of bitterness towards him. Faerynrae gave a little sigh and sat down on the ground, wincing as she leaned against a tree and pulled on her bandages. The action snapped Adane out of whatever stupor she'd fallen into. The Inquisitor's pain reminded her of their urgency, of their need for the town's supplies and Warren's healing magic.

"The message," she said. "It means that Warren will be waiting for us at the Worn Blessing at nightfall."

"The Worn Blessing?"

"It's the tavern in the middle of town. See it?" She pointed towards a large building with a brick red roof in the center of the city. It rose above the rest of the houses, its paint new and fresh. The lavish building had become the symbol of the town a few years after the Mayor commissioned for it to be built.

"Wonderful," Faerynrae grunted sarcastically, her brows furrowing together. "And how does he imagine we'll be able to get there?"

"There's a passageway that leads into a hidden part of the building. It's close to the eastern end of town, but we can't go there alone."

"Why?"

"He has to open it from the other side." She shook her head. "But, why does he want to wait 'till nightfall?"

"It's likely safer that way," Faerynrae reasoned.

"You're hurt," Adane protested.

"I'll live." Noticing the girl's distress, she added — "He probably doesn't know of our urgency."

Still irritated with Warren's reckless decision and so impatient that she wanted to pace, Adane settled for sitting down beside the Inquisitor. "At least let me change that bandage while we wait," she suggested. Faerynrae obliged, unbuttoning her tunic and shrugging it off her shoulders. As Adane unwrapped the gauze from the Inquisitor's torso, her hands fell into a steady rhythm. It was good to be doing something; she wanted to keep busy. Sitting here and waiting for Warren's signal until night time was going to be daunting and maddening.

"How much of our language do you know?" Faerynrae asked out of the blue. "You mentioned you'd been away from your Clan for some years."

"A few words," Adane admitted. "Don't remember much."

"Would you like me to teach you?"

Adane's hands paused. "I…well…I dunno…"

"There are so few of us who remember the Old Ways," Faerynrae lamented, tilting back her head to look at the sky. "I know that teaching you won't change that. Nothing I can ever do will change that. Still, I regret leaving Clan Lavellan sometimes."

"Do you miss your family?"

"I had no family there. I was alone. Isolated. The forest was my home and the animals my siblings."

"You use magic," Adane pointed out. "Weren't you the Keeper's First?"

"I was a nuisance, if anything," Faerynrae admitted with a bitter smile. "No other Clan could take me, and for…various reasons…they couldn't send me away to a Circle."

"If you didn't like them, then why d'you miss them?"

"I miss many things about my old life. I have many regrets." The Inquisitor didn't say anything else, and Adane didn't pry, knowing full well what it was like to avoid conversations about things best left alone. Instead, she focused on her task, imagining what it would be like to be in Faerynrae's shoes. It was hard to visualize missing a home in the forest or others of her kind. If she'd had a reference point, it might have been easier. But, her own family wasn't much of an example of what a normal Dalish Clan should be like. Virnhen did things differently than most, a fact that had led them to disaster.

"I wouldn't mind," Adane told the Inquisitor at length. "Learning more words, I mean."

"Really?" Faerynrae sounded surprised. "You don't have to say that out of courtesy. I won't mind either way."

"No, I mean it." The earnest tone of her own voice surprised Adane. "It'd be nice to learn."

"As you wish, _da'len_." Faerynrae's eyes brightened. "Is there anything in particular you'd want to know?"

Adane thought about it for a while. For some reason, she kept remembering the conversation between the Inquisitor and Solas in the forest. She hadn't really understood much of what they talked about, but she couldn't forget that one word that had made Solas's expression grow dead and dark.

" _Harellan,_ " she said, hoping she remembered it right.

The Inquisitor's shoulders tensed, her smile fading away. "Why _that_   word? And how do you know of it?" she asked.

"You called him that. Your mage. Back in the woods. I was just wondering what it meant."

Faerynrae was silent for a long time. Then — "It means 'traitor' or 'betrayer'. It is a word used to accuse someone of being a traitor to one's kin."

"Why did you say that to him?" Adane tied off the bandage then sat back. She crossed her legs in front of her, fingers reaching for some grass to pick and tear at it. "I don't think he liked it."

"No elf who knows its meaning would relish being at the receiving end of such an insult. I suppose I wanted to lash out at him. You see, Adane, Solas is…" Faerynrae hesitated, sadness dominating her expression. "The truth is that he…" It seemed like she was about to explain, but she quickly changed her mind. "It's complicated."

Sensing the Inquisitor's discomfort, Adane pointed to the sky. "What about that?" she inquired. "How do you say 'the sun is out'?"

" _Elgara,_ " the Inquisitor said. Her shoulders lowered, the muscles there relaxing. She appeared relieved at the change of topic.

"Just one thing for that whole sentence?"

"Elven words rarely represent a single object or idea. There are often hidden layers to them. One word could convey a thousand different meanings — a thousand emotions or feelings."

"That seems kinda hard to understand."

"It can be, but don't let that discourage you. Come, _da'len_ , what should we learn next?"

Hours passed this way, with the Inquisitor patiently repeating words for various objects that happened to be in Adane's line of sight. By the time the sun set, her head hurt. She was pretty sure she couldn't remember even half of what they learned. The Inquisitor looked happier, though. Teaching took her mind off of heavier thoughts. Adane admitted that she liked seeing her like this. The darkness that swarmed around her when they first set out for Alderdeen scared her. In a secret part of her heart, she feared that the woman she'd admired for years was gone.

"You look tired," Adane noted. "Does your side hurt?"

"No," Faerynrae answered. "But we haven't been moving much. It pains me most when we walk."

"The blood's mostly clotted now. You don't look as pale as before."

"I do feel better," Faerynrae admitted. "Perhaps well enough to forget this village business entirely."

"Where else would you go?" Adane demanded disapprovingly.

"The forest. For now. Until I'm healed and I can move on."

"Then what?"

"I hadn't considered it. Northward, I suppose. To Skyhold."

"Your old fortress?"

"It's nothing but ruins now," Faerynrae said with a frown. "I know I shouldn't risk going back, but I need to see it. I haven't been there since…"

 _Since the Seekers razed it to the ground,_ Adane concluded. Absentmindedly, she continued tugging on the grass around her. There was something satisfying about hearing it snap as she ripped it out of the earth.

"What do you think you'll find there?"

"Memories, perhaps. Answers. Remembering the past is important to our people, Adane. Memories are all we have."

"You said Alderdeen was a trap, but it can't be worse than Skyhold. I bet there's Seekers waiting there, too."

"Remembering, practicing the Old Ways, is worth the risk. Entering an occupied village to heal a minor injury is not."

"Memories are worth more to you than your life? That doesn't make much sense."

"You are too young to understand."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Adane pulled absently on a large root, feeling dirt worming under her nails.

"Because it is the truth," Faerynrae said. "If you were not so young…if you had stayed with your Clan and knew more of our traditions, then you would know of what I speak."

"Going back is still stupid," Adane snapped. More soil squeezed under her nails as she scratched and pried at the tree root. "So is putting so much value on traditions that amount to less than dirt on a pig's arse." A part of her regretted the words as soon as she said them. Even to her, the argument sounded crude and heartless. But, she wouldn't apologize. Not for being right and for thinking straight.

"What does being elven mean to you?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Having big eyes and pointed ears." Adane's fingers hurt. She was pulling on the root so hard that the rough bark dug into her skin. "Having people look down at me and throw insults at me when I'm not looking." She snorted at that. "Nah, even when I'm looking. _Shems_ aren't shy about spitting in my face."

"Even if it was for a short time, you lived with your Clan. Surely they taught you the importance of preserving our ways."

"They didn't teach me anything," she grumbled. "They were a bunch of meddling fools who didn't know right from wrong. I'm glad to be rid of them." Her hand tensed, grabbing onto the root with a death grip. A stab of panic stole her breath. She hadn't realized that she was angry up until this moment. In her carelessness, she'd nearly let the truth slip out. Adane closed her mouth with a snap before she could reveal anything she didn't want to.

"You prefer living this way, then?"

"If by that you mean living around _shems_ , then no. I don't hate 'em, but I don't like 'em either. Just like elves or dwarves. They're all the same to me." She raised her chin. "I like being alone. I can rely on myself, and I don't need anyone filling my head with traditions or stupid stories about creators and gods."

"They aren't merely stories," Faeryrae cut in, her voice hard and low. "Labeling them as such would be unwise."

Something about her words stopped Adane cold. She waited for Faerynrae to elaborate, disappointed when she didn't.

"That aside, _da'len_ , I believe there is more value in going back to Skyhold than trusting myself to strangers. If anything, the true mistake is following someone I barely know into a city full of enemies."

That hurt. Maybe more than it should have. Adane told herself that she couldn't really blame the Inquisitor for not believing in her. They'd only met a few days ago, after all. But the word "stranger" felt wrong. She guessed that if she'd called her "friend" it would have felt wrong, too. What did that make her, then?

"Strangers don't help each other. Not ever," Adane countered darkly. "And I'm seventeen. I'm not a child. My face might not be painted up with _vallaslin_ , but I'm not so young that I don't have things I regret, too." She gave up on trying to unearth the tree root, scooting back and crossing her arms over her chest. Her hand throbbed. Anger rose hot and thick to the surface of her mind. "Don't just _assume_ things. You talk like you're the only one who's been hurt or the only one who lost something. Well, that's not true." She tried to pull back her anger and resentment, but couldn't manage it. It was all she could do to keep herself from blurting out the truth about her past.

"You don't know me," Adane concluded, furious with herself for being too afraid to say what was really on her mind. "You don't know anything about me, so stop talking like you do."

Silence fell between them like crashing boulders. Neither of them said anything for an unknown span of time. Finally, Faerynrae moved over to Adane and let out a long heavy breath. "I'm sorry," she appealed, reaching for Adane's arm. The girl shied away from her touch, too angry to allow it right now. "I truly am. I didn't mean to — "

Their conversation was interrupted when the same black bird from earlier that day flew in-between them and landed on Adane's bent knee. Nothing was tied around its leg this time, but Adane didn't need parchment and codes to tell her what she already knew.

"It's Warren," she explained. "It's the signal. He's ready to meet us."

"Adane, wait…"

Without waiting to hear what the Inquisitor wanted to say, Adane rose to her feet and brushed the dirt from her pants. She looked towards the gate. The Seekers still stood there, imposing and vigilant. The stream of traders and people had slowed to a trickle. Only two merchants waited to be allowed inside, their long caravans trailing behind them like serpents. The Seekers looked to be giving them an even harder time than the morning arrivals.

"Let's go," she said. "There's hardly anybody coming in now, and it won't be long before those brutes get bored and start looking for trouble." As if on queue, a commotion erupted from the gates below. Three of the Seekers drew their swords. At first, Adane thought they might threaten the traders, but it soon became apparent that the trouble was far more complicated than a small dispute. Six figures dressed in black leather armor and hooded masks slipped from the darkness, shouting a hoarse battle cry. The merchants screamed in panic. Adane flinched. She knew what was coming. Poor sods.

Pandemonium broke out. All six of the attackers were highly skilled, tearing through the caravan's guards like a hot knife through butter. The merchants thew up their arms and begged for them to stop, trying to hide behind the heavily armored Seekers whom they'd been cursing at just moments before. The Seekers, in turn, pushed them away and back towards the fight. Arrows hissed as they flew out from the darkness. The Seekers and caravan guards dodged and deflected most of them, but several struck one of the merchants down, stabbing into his gut. Seeing their employer go down, his guards fled the scene. The attackers finished off the rest.

"What's going on?" Faerynrae asked.

"Looks like a robbery. They're pretty common around here these days, especially since the Seekers don't bother to protect anyone but themselves. It's why the merchants started hiring more muscle." She pointed to the last remaining guard, a particularly tall human man wielding a longsword and shield. She couldn't make out his face, just light shoulder length hair. He fought fiercely, felling four men before he had to retreat behind one of the carts to hide from the arrows. He pulled his employer with him, shoving him back behind him in a surprisingly selfless gesture. It was unusual for a mercenary to be so dedicated.

"Things have changed," Faerynrae said.

"Let's go," Adane urged. "This is a good chance to get to the passage without attracting any unwanted attention."

"Lead the way."

Adane picked up her bow and slung it over her shoulder. She checked that the straps of her pack were securely fastened and made sure that her daggers were within reach. Sifting dirt around with her feet, she did her best to hide her own tracks, knowing that nothing could cover up the partially dug out tree root and the clumps of torn grass. With some annoyance, she noted that, as always, the Inquisitor hadn't left a trace of her presence. The entire time, Adane could feel Faeryrae's gaze boring into the middle of her back, but she stood her ground, resisting the urge to turn around and talk about their earlier conversation. Right now wasn't the time, and she was pretty sure that if she saw regret in those large green eyes, she would cave and apologize, too.


	5. ACT I: Chapter 4

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**ACT I: Chapter 4**

* * *

.

**.**

**Letter Penned 9:47 Dragon**

**[This scrap of paper is worn and battered. No markings are present to identify its sender or recipient.]**

If you are reading this, then I am long dead. Mourn me not, for I regret none of what has come to pass. I embrace my destiny and am grateful for the role I have played in our quest. I'm sure you are anxious to know if our endeavors have succeeded. I have wondrous news.

They are ready, My Lord.

Out of fifty six volunteers, four survived. They have no memories of their past lives and no ties to this world to stop them from serving our cause as they must. If only you could see them. If only you could witness for yourself their perfection and their power. Though they are only the first in what will be a long line of perfected creatures of their kind, they will always be "the first" and strongest of them. 

I've given my life for the spell to seal them. They will be here, waiting for the time when you should need them to advance our cause. Remember my sacrifice. Remember why we fight. Remember our oath to do whatever we must in order to save our world.

**[END OF TEXT]**

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

Creeping in the darkness of night, Adane and Faerynrae passed through the edge of the forest to reach the southern part of the city, looping around to go the long way. The Seekers patrolling along the ramparts of the city's massive walls made Adane nervous, and she decided to sacrifice some time if it meant they could get to the secret entrance without any incidents. Even with this extra caution, though, Adane found herself stopping frequently to make sure they weren't being followed, her body tense and her senses on alert.

She and Faerynrae didn't talk about what happened on the hilltop, and that was fine. Adane didn't really want to. Her pride still bristled from their earlier disagreement, and she thought it was better to stay silent than to add to the tension already present between them. Her logic insisted that her behavior bordered on irrational. After all, Faerynrae hadn't _meant_ to insult her. But even if Adane knew that, she couldn't let go of her anger so easily. The last time anyone had treated her like a child was years ago. Even if her age labeled her as someone who might need guidance and protection, her knowledge, skill, and experience did not.

 _I need to let this go_ , she thought. _If I keep acting like this, she really will think I_ _'m acting like a stupid kid._

With this thought in mind, Adane took them up into the hills. The hidden path to the entrance stretched all the way from the Frostback mountains, marked only by vague and inconspicuous clues that kept its followers from getting lost. Warren hadn't bothered to explain why it was there or who made it. He mentioned reading something about ancient elves and the Emerald Graves, but the information wasn't interesting enough to stick. All she needed to know was how to navigate it and how to guide other Inquisition supporters through it. For months, that had been her job. Being a guide might not pay well in coin, but leading travelers through these parts on a regular basis paid off in other ways. She knew all the paths and trails in this region like the creases of her palms.

When they approached a large pine with a crooked and deformed trunk that resembled a hunched old woman, Adane turned them back towards the city. From here, no one could possibly stalk them. Even if someone stumbled on this path accidentally, they could never follow it to Alderdeen. As they picked their way through the mud and melting snow, Adane looked for the various signs meant to keep them on track. They were harder to find now that snow covered them, but Warren had taught her well.

Halfway down the path, the trees began to thin out, giving way to more shrubs and tall grass. Even so, a thick canopy strangled this place, keeping out first the sun and now the rays of moonlight that tried to squeeze between the fleshy branches. There was no way to tell how long they walked, so Adane timed their trip by the signs of the road. Without the stars to guide her, she couldn't tell if they were moving in the right direction. She was forced to trust the clues blindly. As always, she felt somewhat nervous about that, but when they reached a pair of boulders forming an archway, Adane sighed in relief. They were close to their destination. Squinting past the darkness of the forest, Adane could make out a small ruin of stone and bark in the distance.

 _The next clue_ _…_

Still nervous and cautious about being followed, she looked for human tracks, but found none - not even ones belonging to animals. No one had used this trail in weeks at least. Spiderwebs littered the gaps between branches, tickling her face and hands as she swiped them away. They'd built up so thick that they hung in a heavy grey film, droplets of water suspended inside them as though by magic. Faerynrae weaved between them untouched, her movements suggesting that doing so was familiar and natural. Her long dark hair flowed behind her in glossy waves. As always, her feet made no sound. For the first time, Adane realized that her face was bare, devoid of any markings or _vallaslin._

Curiosity itched at her. She wanted to know the reason why someone so devoted to the Dalish culture wore no markings to honor their gods. Her eyes occasionally strayed to the elven woman's ears and the silver caps that covered their tips. She remembered the scars that marred them and how she'd been horrified to see the evidence of the Inquisitor's abuse at human hands. From the limited scraps of dialog she'd been able to overhear between her and Solas, Adane understood that the Seekers were responsible for the frequent hopelessness in the Inquisitor's eyes.

She tried not to think about it. Doing so made her feel even guiltier about the things she'd said to the Inquisitor before. Pressing her lips together, Adane forced herself to stay quiet. She poured all of her concentration into the task of keeping them on the correct path. They could talk about things like that later, and there would always be time for both of them to apologize.

At the next turn in the trail, Adane caught sight of a large hollow pine. She smiled. This was it.

 _Finally_ _…_

Adane turned to tell her companion about it when Faerynrae's hand suddenly whipped out and grabbed at the fur of her cloak. Not expecting it, Adane started, but before she could make a sound, the Inquisitor's other hand settled over her mouth.

"Don't move," she warned in a low whisper. At her nod, the Faerynrae let her go. The woman's face had gone white. Her green eyes churned with focus, muscles stiff with the flare of adrenaline. Even through her cloak, Adane could feel Faerynrae's magic brushing against her skin. It reached out as though searching for something.

"What is it?" Adane asked in a voice no louder than a breath.

"I'm not certain. Perhaps nothing," Faerynrae murmured. Her eyes flicked in all directions; fingers tightened their grip on Adane's shoulder. "You mentioned this entrance was a secret."

Adane nodded in confirmation.

"Who else but you and your mage knows of it?"

"Nobody," Adane assured her. "Only me and him know how to stay on the path to get to it."

Faerynrae's magic flared outwards again. Seeking. Searching. It was no longer the comforting sort of Dalish magic that reminded Adane of things long past. It was icy; frigid; dangerous. Faerynrae's grip on her cloak tightened even more until Adane flinched in pain.

"Something is very wrong, _da'len_." The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed. "Someone has been through here. Recently. Perhaps no more than several hours ago."

_"What?"_

Adane's skin broke out in goosebumps. With a flash of panic, she examined the ground around them. Her knees bent, body sinking closer to the dirt and mud. She'd been so careful, so watchful. How could she have missed any strange tracks? Her breath caught in her throat as she desperately sought out evidence to confirm Faerynrae's fears, but found nothing. No broken branches. No footprints on the trail aside from hers. Her mind raced. The snow from the storm melted over half a day ago. There was a chance that the sun had washed away signs of someone's passing, but even if the intruder hadn't left tracks in the mud, he would have left them on the surrounding plants.

"How d'you know someone was here?" She asked. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her daggers from her belt with care, afraid the sound of their ringing blades would alert anyone around of their presence. She told herself to stay calm. Faerynrae was just being paranoid. Nobody knew about this trail, and there was no evidence of anyone using it. The Inquisitor was just overreacting.

But, what if she wasn't?

Faerynrae leaned closer until her warm breath brushed against Adane's ear. She pointed to the branches. "The spiders and their webs have vanished. The forest is silent. Listen," she paused. "No birds or beasts. Whatever or whomever came through here frightened them away. When we moved downhill earlier, crickets and owls made their presence known. I heard hooves padding over pine needles not far from us. Yet now..."

Adane glanced at the surrounding branches where scraps of ruined webbing hung like tattered curtains. A sense of dread washed over her. Those webs weren't fragile. Even strong wind and rain couldn't break them so easily. Hands could, though. Or a torch. But, something that could wield a torch or even a branch to break the webs would have left footprints. Unnerved, she strained to hear the birds or owls.

Nothing.

A vacuous quiet surrounded them, unnatural and thick.

"Let me take the lead," Faerynrae said. "Instruct me. Show me where to go, but do not move past me."

"I'm not helpless," Adane protested, her previous anger flaring up again. "I can protect myself just fine."

"Something is terribly wrong." Faerynrae shook her head, her expression pained. She brought a hand to her temple and closed her eyes. "I don't understand. It almost feels as though —"

A twig snapped nearby, the sharp sound reverberating through the trees.

Adane's heart almost burst out of her chest when Faerynrae sank to the ground beside her and pulled her into a crushing embrace. The Inquisitor's skin felt cold and clammy. Her breathing remained slow and quiet —controlled — but Adane could hear the Inquisitor's heart pounding just as hard as hers. She opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but Faerynrae squashed her palm against Adane's lips. The Inquisitor's magic roared to life.

Suddenly, Adane's body felt lighter than air. Nausea mushroomed in her gut, a weird sensation of rising and falling nearly making her bite her tongue. The forest spun in horrible and violent circles. Panicking, Adane grabbed at the Inquisitor's clothes, throwing her arms around her as though she was an anchor in a storm. She struggled to breathe past the hand that covered her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut. What was happening? Adane shivered, ice snaking up her arms from her fingers to her neck. She twisted her face until she could loosen Faerynrae's unrelenting grip over her lips and swallowed a great big mouthful of air. Coughing, she gasped and sputtered, feeling like she was somehow drowning on land.

Then, everything ground to a halt. Her dizziness and nausea evaporated, the world stopped spinning, and Adane could feel solid ground beneath her knees. For a split second, she had the urge to bend down and kiss the soil. She'd never be so grateful to just be still. It reminded her of why she hated ships and anything that related to travel over water. Still weak, confused, and disoriented, she looked up to see that the Inquisitor's face had hardened into a neutral expression. Her green eyes were hollow, the color dull and subdued. Her mask of composure was only undermined by how badly she was trembling.

 _"What just happened?"_ Adane mouthed to her. Glancing about, Adane noticed that they'd moved somehow. They'd been kneeling on the ground just seconds before, but now they were pressed against a large tree — Faerynrae's back against it with her arms and knees tightly molding Adane's body to hers. The Inquisitor's eyes slipped downward, capturing hers. What she saw in that hypnotic gaze made her freeze. She'd been wrong. Her eyes weren't hollow. They were full to the brim with naked paralyzing _fear_. The powerful emotion rammed into her with the force of a hammer. Adane's teeth ground so hard together they hurt. The Inquisitor was a hero, a slayer of dragons and false gods. What could possibly terrify her to this extent? And if _she_ was afraid…

Shifting soundlessly in place, Adane peeked around the edge of the tree, struggling to see anything in the thick viscous darkness. She saw the secret trail some distance away. Not far from the hollow tree that hid the entrance to the passageway stood a man. Even through the thick canopy, some moonlight slipped through, bouncing off leaves and branches to illuminate his set of armor. A shield caught her eye, bearing an emblem she didn't recognize. It looked something like a winged helmet with an eye in the center. The design of his massive pauldrons matched the picture. They were shaped like feathery wings with lidless eyes looking out from the shadows.

The man was taller than any she had ever seen, with hair so bright that it looked almost silver. It flowed well past his broad shoulders, rippling down to his abdomen in shimmering waves. He wore no helmet, but carried himself as a confident warrior might. The sword in his hand gleamed. Adane thought she could see some scratches on the blade.

Turning back to the Inquisitor, she raised a brow and whispered — "It's just one Seeker."

Faerynrae shook her head slowly — deliberately. "Look again," she said. "That is _no_ Seeker."

Adane stole another glance at the warrior. This time, she noticed something glowing through the gaps of his armor. A gentle blue light pulsed there — slow, steady, and rhythmic. Something on his forehead glowed the same color, a kind of tattoo. True, his armor didn't look familiar, but who else would be patrolling the woods at this time of night? Only the Seekers did. Sometimes. If they suspected something or if they were bored. Adane hardly understood them or their purpose, so she could never predict what they'd do. To her, they were all the same flavor of fanatic.

"Adane," the Inquisitor whispered. When their eyes met, her face wrinkled into an expression of regret. "Forgive me, but I cannot follow you. I cannot keep my promise."

"What? _Why?_ "

"You must stay here. No matter what happens or what you hear, _do not_ move from this spot. I will draw him away. As soon as he is out of sight, you must…" She swallowed and took a deep breath, making a visible effort to stop her shaking. Adane looked up at her expectantly, still confused as to why the Inquisitor was making such a big deal about a single soldier. When Faerynrae's eyes captured hers again, however, Adane's knees turned to mush. The hairs on her arms stood on end.

"You must _run_."

Adane bit the corner of her lip, tasting blood. She didn't like the sound of that.

"It's just one man. I can sneak up behind him and gut him before he gets the chance to swing his sword. And you…you've got your magic —"

"He will kill us both, Adane."

"I don't get it," Adane shook her head. "It's just one —"

"No," Faerynrae cut in. "They do not travel alone. There is always at least one other, _two_ if the Order was desperate." Her expression turned dark and stormy. "And they almost always are. Stay here. Please. Do not think of following me. I will lure them away and make the path safe for you. I will protect you. I'm so sorry that you had to be pulled into this, but it is for this reason that I cannot stay." Her eyes softened and she leaned forward, pressing her mouth against Adane's forehead. "Thank you for your kindness, _da_ _'len_. I will never forget it."

Without conscious thought, Adane reached out and sank her fingers into Faerynrae's tunic. The garment, already too tight, ripped at one of the shoulder seams. They'd moved through the trees by magic, Adane realized, and she feared that if she let go of the woman before her, she would slip away using the same spell. No matter how hard the Inquisitor tried to appear strong right now, Adane wasn't buying it. She was shaking. Her face was pale. A rivulet of sweat trickled down the side of her neck. She was terrified beyond belief, and yet she wanted to _leave_? She was going to try to fight alone? Injured? And for what? Because she'd somehow gotten it into her head that Adane was a helpless little girl that needed coddling?

"I'll flank him," Adane insisted, reigning in her fury. "I'll stick close to the ground. He won't see me coming."

"Adane…"

" _You_ stay here," she ordered, hardly recognizing her own voice and how firm and commanding it was. "I'll go. Can you cast a barrier around me?"

"He will _devour_ it," the Inquisitor said. "Once he has it, my mana will make him unstoppable." All the affection and softness faded from her eyes, almost like someone had soaked them up with a sponge. Bitterness and urgency remained. "He's already sensed my magic. Should I use it anywhere in this vicinity again, he will steal it from me and use it against us. The others will hear you before you can approach him. His partners are likely waiting for such an opportunity. They will strike faster than lightning, and if you are fortunate…" She shuddered. "If you are fortunate, your death will be swift."

"Are they _seriously_ that dangerous?"

Faerynrae's lips straightened into a thin line. "Yes."

Amazing how a single word could make her so uncomfortable. Adane grimaced and pushed her own trepidation aside, refusing to believe that two or even three men could be so powerful. The way the Insquisitor spoke about them left little room for doubt. The terror in her eyes was real as anything Adane had ever seen. But, this was the woman who had brought Ferelden and Orlais to its knees before her. This was a mage powerful enough to strike fear into the heart of the Chantry and its lackeys. Yet here she sat, insisting that some thugs in armor could take her down with barely any effort.

"The entrance is close," Adane told her. "You moved us with magic, right? You can do it again. Just over there, to that hollow pine. That's all we need. Warren's probably already there, waiting for my signal. He'll open the door for us, and we can escape before those guys can even touch us."

"That won't work, _da_ _'len_."

"I won't let you leave. Either we do this together right now or I go out there and show you how easily I can kill them alone."

It took a moment, but the Inquisitor's grim expression yielded. She arched a delicate dark eyebrow. "You enjoy setting ultimatums, don't you? This is the second one you've given me since we met."

Adane smirked. "Only when I'm around you." She let go of the Inquisitor's clothes and sat back. "Are we doing this or not?"

"This is reckless," Faerynrae warned her. "If we should fail…"

"We won't."

A beat. A moment as the two stared each other down. Then, finally, the Inquisitor let out a little sigh. "Alright, then, but the plan you've mentioned isn't going to work. We'll have to rethink it. I don't have the strength for another Fadestep with two people." She examined the area around them. "This is not a good place for this fight. We cannot risk them finding your hidden passageway, and we will be too easily surrounded."

"I know another trail," Adane offered. "Bit of a treck. Up a ways. Chances are, they don't really know about the secret door. If we leave tracks and they're stubborn enough to come after us, we can lead 'em to where we want them. They won't suspect a thing. Then, I can —" She stopped dead. When her hands reached for her daggers and found an empty belt, Adane looked over to the spot they were at before and flinched. "Shit…"

Faerynrae seemed to understand what was wrong. "I had to move us quickly…"

"Doesn't matter. I still have my bow."

"It may not be enough."

"It'll have to be." Adane's eyes strayed to the hills. "The path we're going to is narrow and steep. They can't surround us there. We can bottleneck them and bring 'em down one at a time."

"I have enough strength to fight for a short while," Faerynrae said. Adane knew she meant shapeshifting. "If you can attack with your bow from a distance, we may stand a chance."

"I'll be fast," Adane nodded.

"They will be _faster_. Our only advantage is that they can only sense _me_ through magic. If I hold their attention, they won't see you."

Adane looked back towards the silver-haired soldier, her eyes lingering on the blue glow beneath his armor. A stray breeze rustled the canopy above, allowing more light to filter past it. Now that she could see him, she noted the white almost sickly color of the man's skin. The tattoo on his forehead glowed brighter. Adane made out a part of it — something that looked like curved rays of a sun. The shadows around him moved and writhed. From the darkness stepped two other soldiers wearing the same armor as the first and carrying shields with the same symbol. Their faces came into focus, and Adane blinked to make sure she wasn't imagining things.

The men could have been triplets. Everything from their long silver hair to their strong jaws, grey eyes, and glowing tattoos was identical. They were handsome and perfect, yet theirs was a cold sort of beauty, the kind that hid something dark and foul beneath it. Adane had been around enough assassins, murderers, mercenaries to know what bloodlust looked like in a man's eyes, and she didn't like what she was seeing.

The three talked about something between themselves, exchanging words in a language Adane didn't recognize. It sounded like a kind of throaty hissing. One of them nodded and sheathed his sword. As he slid the enormous blade back into its scabbard, Adane saw that the things she originally thought were scratches on his blade were actually tally marks carved straight into the steel.

"These goons...what _are_ they?" She asked. A shudder worked its way down her spine.

The Inquisitor frowned. "Later, if we survive, I will explain. Right now, all that matters is the fact that they are monsters."

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

Once their plan was made, they didn't speak again for a long while. This time, though, their silence wasn't awkward. It was a part of their new goal to survive. Adane still didn't know who or what their pursuers were, but she had a feeling that she didn't want to find out. The sight of the tally marks on the soldier's blade wouldn't leave her in peace. Who put tally marks on a sword? What did they mean? She still couldn't believe what a mess all of this had turned into. Bringing the Inquisitor to Alderdeen wasn't supposed to be this difficult or dangerous. Sure, Warren explained that a lot of different people were hunting her, but somehow Adane believed she could handle anything that got in their way.

Brooding and lost in her own inner turmoil, she guided them to the edge of the Emerald Graves past a large wall of limestone and granite, leading them up a treacherous trail that, to one who wasn't used to this forest, might look like nothing more than a goat path. Hunters used it frequently as a shortcut between the various areas of the Dales. It had no official name, so Adane had given it one. She called it the Serpent's Tail, a title that was far from original, but one that she was fond of. Besides, it was fitting. Climbing the Tail was as dangerous and risky as handling a live snake. Adane was familiar with the rocks, outcroppings, and bits of loose ground. She could navigate it with ease, but not even those who knew the trail well could predict how it could change season after season.

Allowing Faerynrae to go first, she directed her on which spots were safe and which ones weren't. For hours, they climbed over sharp rocks and dead vines, their feet slipping to find purchase on uneven ground. Despite her agility and grace, Faerynrae struggled to keep up the pace. Though her wound did look better, Adane had no fresh bandages to use to clean it. She dreaded what infection might do to the Inquisitor if they didn't make it to Warren soon but tried to keep her anxieties to herself. Dwelling on "what if's" wasn't her way of doing things. At least, she hadn't thought it was. In just a few short days, the Inquisitor had flipped her life — and her thinking — upside down.

Time passed quickly. Night began to turn to morning, and as darkness gave way to light, the forest filled with new sounds and smells. A wet chill settled over the land, the clouds above feeding moisture to the thirsty trees and plants below. The scent of wet earth was heady and overpowering, but Adane enjoyed it. At the very least, it was a welcome respite from the previous snow storm. She just hoped that this weather would hold, at least until they could get to Alderdeen and to safety. They had enough problems as it was without getting snowed on.

By the time the pair made it a good way up the Tail, the mud on the ground dried up and began to turn to thick clay that didn't mold well around their feet. Their tracks were unusually difficult to see, and Adane hoped that the men would be able to follow them. Strange, to _want_ for your enemy to hunt you down. More than once, Adane wondered if it wouldn't be easier to lead them away from the entrance to the passage then double back, hide their tracks, and avoid the men entirely.

"It matters little if we hide our tracks or not," Faerynrae explained when Adane brought it up. "They will find us. It is only a matter of time."

Adane disagreed. The Tail was exposed, and they could easily be spotted. But, it was also extremely narrow and small. The two of them couldn't even walk side by side, and if two small elves couldn't manage it, then surely three armored brutes couldn't either. Even though Faerynrae's injuries slowed them down, they were making good time. Adane was sure they had a good lead on their pursuers. Maybe, if they could stay hidden long enough, the Inquisitor might agree with her earlier suggestion to head back to Alderdeen without a fight. She wasn't one to back down from a scrap, especially if she knew what it was she was risking her neck for. But, this was different. Gripping her bow for reassurance, Adane kept a firm hold over her building unease.

Why was the Inquisitor so afraid of these men? What were they and what powers did they have that would allow them to capture such a powerful mage?

Adane was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the Inquisitor stop ahead of her and nearly ran straight into Faerynrae's back. Stumbling to catch her balance, Adane blinked up at her as she balanced on the edge of a half-buried boulder. The Inquisitor had frozen mid-stride. This high up in the hills, the wind blew stronger. It toyed with the elven woman's dark hair, whipping it around her hips. Confused, Adane tapped her companion on the shoulder.

"What is it?"

When Faerynrae didn't answer, she followed the direction of her stare and let out a strangled sound of surprise. There, no more than forty strides ahead, stood the three armored men. In the woods, she thought they were big men, but she hadn't realized just how tall they were. They towered over both of them, their shadows seeming to block out the sun. Wicked grins twisted their mouths, warping their faces into vile sneers of anticipation. Something slithered out from the back of Adane's mind. She recognized it as the snake-like dread she'd felt when Faerynrae first called these men "monsters". The emotion wrapped itself around her torso, squeezing the air out of her. Heart in her throat now, she took a step back.

How was this possible? How could they have headed them off when they should have been stuck far behind following their tracks? This trail went in one direction and ended at the cliffs in the Emerald Graves. They couldn't have traveled so far so fast. Not even with horses. Her mind screamed warnings even as she looked down and saw the sand and grit that covered their hands, boots, and armor. Her eyes snapped to the sheer cliff on her right.

 _Gods_ , she thought dazedly. _They climbed. They_ _'re wearing such heavy armor, and they still climbed. They don't even look like they're out of breath._

"Adane," Faerynrae called out gently. "You have to leave now."

One of the men stepped closer. Dust crunched beneath his heavy boot. The morning light illuminated the tattoo on his forehead. She had no doubt as to what it was now. Adane's hand clenched into a fist at her side. All three men bore the symbol of the Tranquil, yet they looked nothing like the mindless vegetables Adane remembered seeing here and there over the years. Their expressions were neither vacant nor apathetic. In fact, their gleaming eyes shone with purpose and conviction.

"Get going, little girl," the closest warrior to them commanded. His deep voice rumbled over the rocks of the cliffs like thunder. "You have nothing that we want. _This one_ on the other hand…" His eyes slid over Faerynrae's body — slowly, heatedly. He licked his lips. The sight made Adane sick to her stomach. Her skin broke out in cold sweat. She knew _that_ look, too.

"Don't be so hasty, Blaze," another one of the warriors cut in. "She might be small, but I bet she'll scream nicely. She's not a mage, but that's never stopped us before."

"Restrain yourself, Thane," the third one grunted. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Our orders are to bring back the Inquisitor. We are not to leave any sign that could be traced back to us."

"Cayden is right," Blaze said. "The famed Inquisitor will be enough entertainment for all three of us." His grin widened, white teeth glistening in the sun. "Isn't that right, little one?"

" _Adane,_ " Faerynrae snapped, jostling her. The motion broke her trance, pulling her from edge of panic. She thought Faerynrae might be afraid like before, but her back was straight and her chin held high. The hand on her shoulder was steady and sure. Their gazes caught. Adane's vision tunneled, narrowing on the Inquisitor's slanted eyes. Emerald fire burned there, along with pleading. Faerynrae mouthed something. A single word:

Run.

It was only then that Adane felt her knees shaking. She wanted to say that 'no, she would never leave', but something wouldn't let her speak. That snake again — the serpent of fear and foreboding.

"If you don't leave now, girl," the one called Cayden warned, "you'll leave in pieces." He seemed to relish that thought.

"I'm thinking she's seen too much already," Thane drawled. "Come on, Blaze. Let me have some fun once in a while. I'm _starved_ , and there's never enough left for me and Cayden when you finish with our prey."

"Fine," the leader spat. "Just don't make a mess."

Faerynrae stepped in front of her. "You will _not_ touch her," she declared in a loud crystal clear voice Adane had never heard her use before. "Your quarrel is with me and me _alone_."

Cayden and Thane exchanged meaningful glances. Blaze never took his eyes off the Inquisitor. "You don't have a say in the matter," he grinned. "I say we give her a choice." Turning that lustful grin to her, he chuckled. "What do you say, girl? Should we let you go? Or would you rather stay and entertain us with your friend?"

"I don't -"

"Run away, Adane," Faerynrae murmured, stopping her. "Go back to your old life, _da_ _'len._ I will not allow any more innocents to involve themselves in my affairs."

"But —"

"Go," Faerynrae ground out. "Now."

As though possessed by an unseen force, Adane stepped back. Her feet moved without her permission, taking her farther and farther away from the Inquisitor and the three warriors. When she was a good twenty strides away, the air exploded with a violent _bang_. Adane screamed as the concussion threw her off kilter. She went flying, landing with an agonized _oomph_ against the sharp edge of a rock. Scrambling to regain her footing, she squinted through waves of blistering heat to see what had happened. At last, her voice returned, ripping from her throat with a strangled cry.

"Inquisitor!"

Fire erupted from the spot where Faerynrae stood, the flames shrieking and hissing as they swelled outward and swallowed the three men whole. The clang of steel being drawn was the only sound Adane could make out in the chaos right before another explosion nearly ruptured her ear drums. Her hands flew to cover her head, mouth opening in a silent cry of pain. She fell to her knees, trying to keep her eyes on the scene before her, _praying_ that Faerynrae was alright.

Lightning flashed. Green, just like the Inquisitor's eyes. A mighty roar split the air, echoing down the cliffs and through the hills. When the fire and smoke cleared, Adane stared in awe at the sight. One of the men writhed on the ground beneath the black colossal paws of a great bear, the animal's fangs crushing his skull between them. The other two shouted in triumph and attacked the beast, but couldn't get close. It swiped at them with its claws and teeth, driving them back and almost over the cliff's edge. The man trapped beneath the bear howled in agony; something in his chest crunched and snapped. He went still, his head flopping sideways. Blood streamed from his mouth.

Instinctively, Adane reached backwards and knocked an arrow to her bow, but no matter how she tried, she couldn't get a clear shot. All of her arrows were tipped with deadly poison. If she hit Faerynrae on accident, she would kill her. Feeling more helpless than she'd ever felt in her entire life, Adane bobbed and weaved, desperate to find any kind of opening in the fight. The bear and the two remaining men didn't spare her a glance. It seemed that, for the moment, they'd forgotten she was there.

The one called Cayden was more agile than his companion, Thane. When the bear roared and used its full weight to slam the warrior into the wall, he took advantage of the terrain to jump on its back and drive the hilt of his weapon against the back of its skull. Baring its teeth, the bear rose up on its back legs, throwing Cayden aside. Before he could fall to his death, the bear caught his arm in its jaws, mangling it as it shook its head from side to side. Thane recovered and hissed something at the animal in a strange language then lunged forward and grabbed its throat with both of his hands.

Blue light burst from his palms, enveloping the bear in what looked like a cocoon of magic. The man's eyes widened. He tipped back his head and howled. It wasn't pain or pleasure. It was something in between the two. His veins lit up with azure fire, the light traveling up his bulging exposed neck to his face and eyes. Letting out a long pained growl, the bear tried to dislodge him. Unfortunately, it was so large that it was close to slipping and falling off the cliff. The trail was too narrow for it. Adane had no idea what was happening, but she knew that if she didn't do something to help the Inquisitor, the men would certainly kill her.

 _I will not allow any more innocents to involve themselves in my affairs_ _…_

Faerynrae's words looped themselves over and over in her mind. Adane's hands stopped shaking. Finding a sturdy bit of ground, she set her feet wide apart and aimed for Thane's throat. This was it. She had to make a choice: let Faerynrae die at the hands of the warriors or risk injuring her and help her fight in any way she could.

"I'm already involved," she said through gritted teeth as she let loose the arrow.


	6. ACT I: Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any typos. I'll be weeding them out in the next few hours as I find them. I hope you guys are enjoying the story! Thank you for leaving kudos and comments <3

**Pulchra Tenebris**

**ACT I: Chapter 5**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**From the Chantry's records**

**Branch of Truth and Investigation**

**...**

_"Days to Remember and Days to Forget - A Journal of Truth, Lies, and Everything Inbetween"_

_Writer, unknown._

_Date, unknown._

_(Found among the crumbling ruins of the Heretic's fortress, the now abandoned Skyhold)_

* * *

**[This journal's dark leather spine is riddled with wrinkles and age lines. Certain pages are marked with tattered strips of colored silk. Some passages have lines around them. Others have been marked with a cross-shaped symbol.**

**This book has been opened and closed too many times, so much so that the wear and tear has caused some of the binding to come undone.**

**One particular entry is emphasized. Someone has underlined various sentences with red ink, scribbling in illegible notes into the margins. These pages are so brittle that they are nearly falling out. Whomever was in possession of this book has read these particular pages more than others.**

**The penmanship is unnaturally neat and tidy, as though the author was in no hurry when they wrote out their thoughts. A few words are smeared here and there, suggesting the author might have been left handed.]**

* * *

**...**

**.**

**.**

**.**

I'll never forget the first time I saw the Inquisitor.

We met in the dungeons of a fortress whose name escapes me now. It was some years ago, and I am not one to recall such insignificant details. What I _do_ remember was that, for the first time in my life, I felt interested in something that had little to do with magical study or ancient artifacts. Just with her presence, the Inquisitor managed to tear me away from obsessions that had ruled me for over a decade.

We didn't meet directly, of course. She was in no position to speak to me, chained and tangled in nets as she was, and I wasn't exactly a welcome resident in the place. Being an apostate mage and runaway nobleman's son paled in comparison to the undeniable fact that I was a thief, and I was certain nobody would care whether I was nobility or not should they discover that I was trespassing on what those in power labeled sacred ground.

Our encounter was limited to an exchange of glances - her terrified green eyes boring into me like a pair of molten daggers. The fire in her eyes was a brand - a hot needle that tattooed her into my memory and into my life irreversibly. I knew even then that I would never be the same.

The soldiers dragged her in from the courtyard. Seekers, they called themselves. I never could understand what it was they were seeking. The Maker? Andraste? A young elf girl to torture? At that moment, the final option seemed the most likely. At first, the Inquisitor was shape-shifted into the form of a black panther. The magic was rare, a scrap of a world and an art lost to time and prejudice.

The large cat clawed at the netting around her body and roared at any who dared to come close. However, she was weak and injured. I could see blood welling beneath her thick fur. In moments, she was too weak to maintain her form, and - within the blink of an eye - she transformed back into a petite elven woman. The Seekers were upon her in an instant, kicking at her from the front and back, restraining her even as they used their unnatural abilities to set the magic in her blood aflame.

She screamed. Oh, how she screamed. The sound petrified me. I wanted to run. I wanted to flee. Seeing such brutal torture wasn't what I'd bargained for when I broke into the fortress. But before I could leave, our gazes met. Against all odds. Against logic. Against anything that made sense. As one of the Seekers threw her brutally to the ground and planted his heel on the small of her back, she looked up and changed my world.

The desperation and fury in those eyes didn't surprise me. Nor was it her dark beauty that drew me in. What threw me off balance was the way she saw right through my spell of invisibility. The other residents of the fortress had no inkling that I was rummaging through the cells of their prison, walking through walls, and salvaging anything useful from their coffers. But this girl looked at me as though I wasn't even trying to hide. She saw me, and right away she knew I didn't belong.

Fascinating. Curious. An irresistible mystery. Unfortunately, I was in a hurry, and Inquisitor or no, I needed to leave before anyone suspected that some of their confiscated treasures weren't where they were meant to be. I remember turning to run. I remember the way hopelessness squashed the light in her eyes as I gave all signs that this wasn't any of my business. A part of her died that day, perhaps more over the months that followed.

There isn't much I regret about my life, but I have thought about that moment every day since it happened. Had I known then what she would come to mean to me? Of course I didn't. I could never have imagined the winding roads my life would take - that I would be involved in a war, not just for humans and elves, but for demons, spirits, and beings that had been alive for several millenia.

But no matter. The truth isn't always pleasant. Not all of us are happy with the faces we see when we look into a mirror. Even after all these years, I still can't say that I have accepted the mistakes I've made in the past. All I can do is write this in the hopes that those reading this journal will know the way things really happened.

**[END OF TEXT]**

* * *

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

.

Stepping through the Eluvian felt much like flying to the surface of a frozen lake while holding on to an air-filled barrel.

Warren's chest constricted, his lungs begging him to take a breath even as his mind knew that he was far from suffocating. Magic pulled and tugged on every pore in his skin, its ethereal hands and fingers grasping to hold onto him even as its wicked intent pulled him farther and farther through the curtain. The portal trembled with an eerie sentience. Such was the way of all things belonging to the ancient elves. The magic was immeasurably powerful, but it was not a tool to be used on a whim. It was a living thing all its own — capricious, alluring, and just as twisted and inconstant as the heart of any mortal. Even now, as Warren relaxed and allowed it to transport him to his destination, he felt its inner turmoil, the need to be remembered tempered with a savage desire to remain hidden for all time.

The magic screamed out in confusion and turmoil, stabbing into his skin with razor sharp pin pricks until he felt dizzy and weak. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through, holding on to the barrier he'd put up around his body with pure strength of will. If he allowed himself to give into weakness and release it, he could end up anywhere in Thedas. Worse, the taint of the mirror could claim his life. Neither option appealed to him, so he held his breath, squeezing his eyes closed and bearing the pain as best as he could. By the time he stumbled out of the portal into an endless expanse of grey and white, his breathing was labored. Warren clutched at his chest, thinking his heart might stop from the sheer agony of the portal's wrath. He blinked to focus his vision, his elation clashing with the discomfort of his rebelling body.

 _What beautiful magic,_ he thought. _Delicate. Unique. Incredible_ _…_

If only he had the time to stay and study it as he wished. But study was not the primary reason he had risked his life to enter the corrupted mirror. He'd come here with a purpose, one he was determined to carry out no matter the cost. Regaining his composure, he examined his surroundings. Endless lines of mirrors, trees with unnaturally round tops, and fountains shaped into the forms of elven gods and legends stood beside each other as far as the eye could see. Each segment of tree, mirror, and fountain was like a reflection of its neighbor save for a few details that set them apart. It was like looking at the heart of a faceted jewel. His hand tightened its grip on the staff at his side. As much as he was tempted to Fadestep through the area to try and get a feel for how large it was, he restrained his impulse. First, he needed to know more about what he'd stepped into.

Warren explored the area for a time, understanding now why the Eluvians were considered cursed and dangerous. The one who'd helped him learn more about the mirrors had called the realm they lead into the Crossroads. A fitting title. This place seemed to exist in its own plane, almost like a fork in a road, a piece of the world trapped in a vacuum of timelessness. When he looked up to find the sun or stars, all he saw was infinite grey. Gentle white light illuminated his surroundings. No wind blew through the trees, and the water flowing through the fountains did so soundlessly. As he walked, he listened to the echoing of his boots. Though he felt no discomfort from it, no air entered his lungs. The experience reminded him of dreams he'd had when he was younger — of being able to breathe while trapped in the depths of the ocean. Reasoning dictated that such a thing was impossible, but -- like this place -- dreams had no need to bend to rules of logic.

 _She did mention that being here might feel odd at first. Like walking through a haze_ , Warren reflected, brushing stray bangs out of his face. _Theoretically, I should be safe. She claimed that once inside, there would be little danger to be wary of_.

The raven-haired witch who helped him come here had given him a rough idea of what he would see. No demons, no Fade, no spirits or creatures of the dark. Just emptiness, more vast and all-encompassing than he could ever imagine. Those words came back to him now, but he put no faith in them, keeping his staff close and a defensive spell at the ready. The witch's reluctance to come with him to this place — among many other factors — put him on edge. She claimed a desire to help an old friend in order to settle a debt, but something in him insisted that a woman like Morrigan had few true friends to speak of. Over the years, he'd learned to be a master at reading others, and the depths of her golden eyes told him she was an expert at lies and intrigue. Fortunately, her and her son vanished without a trace the morning after she and Warren finished their work. He fervently hoped their paths would never cross again.

Though he did so with caution and wariness, Warren walked through the Crossroads with a ghost of a smile on his face. He approached each dark mirror in his path, examining its edges and studying the elven words chiseled into the stone. His knowledge of the language was extensive, but he still struggled to make out the meaning of the inscriptions he saw. After examining a few of the structures, he withdrew a small leather bound book and quill from his satchel and, balancing the journal on his bent leg, began to scribble notes. His ink-stained fingers smeared some of the words. As he went, he tried to change angles, recording some of his observations in words and filling in the rest with sketches and pictures. Since time didn't exist here, he allowed himself to forget about it. Only when he felt a tangible shift in the air — the first since he'd entered this place — did Warren look up from his task and recall why it was he'd come to the Crossroads in the first place. Realizing that he'd let down his guard, he grabbed his staff in his hand and tensed.

The sensation began with an odd shiver ghosting down the outlines of his shoulder blades. His back straightened into a rigid line, spine tingling as though someone pressed ice against it. The air around him grew thicker and colder. Icicles gathered beneath the soles of his worn leather shoes, creeping up the edges of his velvet indigo robes. The light around him dimmed, throwing the lines of trees into dark relief against the bright glow of his azure staff. A black fog — thick as tar — plumed upward from the ground, swaying and twisting. In the center of the smoke, a hooded figure appeared. The fog surrounded his body like a cloak of pitch, giving him form and shape as he materialized piece by piece from seemingly nowhere. Blazing red eyes stared out at him from the darkness, their whites turned black and their pupils elongated like that of a beast's. One by one, more of them appeared until a sea of eyes blinked out from the inky cloud of magic, vanishing like specters when the spell was complete.

A warrior stepped forth, dressed in form-fitting golden armor with a length of rich fur draped across his body from his shoulder to his hip. Silver leather and chain accented the edges of the gold plate, and a black garment made of scaly fabric covered the man's upper arms, head, and back, torn at the hem as though a beast had mangled it. The warrior's head was held high, his arms folded behind him at the small of his back. Warren took note of his chiseled features, shaved head, and long pointed ears. The way he stood, he could have been a king looking down at his domain from the battlements of his castle. He held no weapon, and Warren got the distinct impression that he didn't need one. Brushing aside his discomfort at that thought, he examined the place where the warrior had appeared from. He could still make out a few runes on the ground, though they vanished into thin air too quickly for him to memorize them. The man's gaze captured his own, ice blue and startling.

 _That had to be a spell of transportation._ _Yet he did not use an Eluvian to power it, nor did he enter through a way-gate. He came here on his own power._

For months, he'd been anticipating meeting the person behind the letters and agents of the one who took the name of an elven god as his own. He theorized that he would witness some incredible things tonight, but he hadn't expected a spectacular demonstration like this. Warren knew his mysterious benefactor was powerful, especially when the man arranged for him to receive one of the fabled Eluvians of legend. Somehow, though, he hadn't quite anticipated _this_ level of skill. He was familiar with the complexities of ancient magic and respected its power enough to limit his experience with it to books and scrolls. To see someone use that unpredictable and untamed force so recklessly and brazenly before him made his heart race and his blood burn with curiosity and awe. He stood still, marveling at the courage and strength of his ally, and wondered if entering an agreement with him had been wise after all.

"At last," Warren said, nearly breathless. As much as he doubted and feared his decisions so far, he suddenly felt hopeful. If someone like this was on their side, surely they stood a good chance to succeed. His smile was full of both excitement and trepidation. "I am honored to meet the one who calls himself Fen'Harel, though I must say that you are not at all what pictured."

"Indeed," the other man nodded. His voice didn't echo like Warren's, nor did his armored boots make a sound as he walked. "And you are Warren of Carness."

"I am," he gave a small bow. "It was wrong of me to make assumptions based on elven legend," Warren waved his hand. "It's just that your name carries certain associations with it. I lived with the Dalish for a time. I'll never forget the wolf statues."

The corner of the warrior's mouth twitched ever so slightly. 

"If I may ask, why  _did_ you choose such an ominous name?" 

"It was chosen for me," the warrior said simply, his blue eyes somber. Warren thought to ask something else, but found himself unable to speak. Somehow, the topic seemed to trouble his new ally. Shaking his head, he decided to get down to business.

"Why did you feel it necessary to meet here? Surely it would have been simpler to meet elsewhere and avoid repairing the artifact."

Fen'Harel did not answer at first. He joined Warren in one of the tree-mirror-and-fountain alcoves, brushing his hand along the edge of a lifeless Eluvian. The severe angles of his features shifted into an expression Warren could only label as sorrowful. "Believe me. It is better this way," he said cryptically.

"Will we always meet here to discuss what is to come?"

"Yes. For now." Fen'Harel turned his cold blue eyes to him. "I expect you won't mind such a condition."

"Not at all," Warren said, his smile widening. He couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. This was it. It was finally time to set everything in motion.  

"Please, sit." Fen'Harel gestured towards the fountain. Warren did so, finding a perch for himself on a flat space of the sculpture.

"This place is incredible," he said. "The journey is dangerous, but Morrigan has taught me much about the workings of the mirrors. Given some time, I should be able to completely rid it of taint and make it safe for others to travel through."

Fen'Harel didn't looked as pleased as Warren expected. In fact, he didn't look pleased at all. His face remained set in stone, its lines speaking of hardship and melancholy. "I'm sure you have questions, Carness," he said. "But I cannot afford to answer them right now. It is easy to forget here, but time is against us."

"Of course," Warren nodded. "Let us speak of the future. I will work on the mirror when I can, though I believe it may be a useful tool in the coming weeks."

"Do as you will, but do not forget our terms," Fen'Harel warned. "There was a reason I chose you specifically for the task ahead."

Warren nodded, feeling his stomach clench at the reminder. "I will admit that your price was…a little off-putting."

"I believe it to be a fair trade, considering everything given in return."

"No doubt. But surely you understand that I cannot promise the results will be what you expect."

"What I expect doesn't matter, only what you can do. You, Warren of Carness, are one of the last surviving true Mortalitasi," Fen'Harel frowned. "Not only that, but you are leader to this rebellion." He looked up towards the empty sky as though studying something within. "You understand what that means, I trust? Leading others? Giving them hope? Making promises you know you may not be able to keep? I chose you because I believe that you possess these qualities. After all, you were born to leadership, were you not?"

Warren flinched at his words. He spoke past an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. "You seem to know much about my past. I assume you also know that I've put it far behind me."

"What you were and what you've done makes little difference in the end," Fen'Harel replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "As long as you follow my commands at the proper time, the result will be the same." His eyes narrowed. "What _does_ matter is that you work quickly."

"The girl I sent to carry out the task is an unrivaled tracker. I trust her implicitly," Warren rushed to say, relieved to move past the topic of his origins.

"She, too, has secrets," Fen'Harel scowled. "More dangerous than yours." He paused, then continued. "You won't like what I'm about to say, but think past your emotions and consider my warning. She is too great a threat. Once she does as she is told and brings the Inquisitor to you," he turned his face aside, "get rid of her."

"Adane?" Warren asked, his eyes wide in surprise.

"The little elven girl who plays at being a hero," Fen'Harel said with distaste.

"No," Warren ground out, a fire igniting in his chest. "I won't agree to that."

"Because you love her?"

"No."

"Then it is because you trust her," Fen'Harel ventured. "Trust, much like love, blinds one to what truly matters." His words sounded venomous. Warren suppressed a shiver of discomfort. The elf's face shifted and changed. A shadow fell over it. Suddenly, he seemed taller and more intimidating.

"I will not toss her aside," Warren maintained, straightening his shoulders.

"You would risk crossing me to protect a nameless urchin?" When Fen'Harel looked at him again, one of his eyes turned black. A spot of red glowed from within, the elongated pupil making Warren swallow back a jarring rush of fear. Suddenly, the elf's anger changed to amusement. The black color began to recede from his eye. "She is just another woman, Carness," Fen'Harel said with false reassurance. "You've tossed more than your share aside before. What makes this one so different?"

"Adane is my friend," he answered.

"Ah, yes. Friendship. Like the witch Morrigan, you too have few individuals you can call by such a title." At those words, Warren stared at him. "Don't look so surprised. That is what you were assuming earlier, was it not? That she is a woman who has few friends? Did you pity her? Did you look down on her because you think the world has shunned her and her child? What you do not understand is that, in truth, _she_ has shunned the world for a greater good." His brow furrowed. "A noble stance, one which most cannot hope to comprehend."

"I am not like Morrigan," Warren sneered.

Fen'Harel considered him for a moment. "No," he said. "You are far less taxing, if not as well versed in matters of fate and destiny." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a small breath of irritation. His red eye regained its normal color. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stepped closer to Warren. "Get rid of her, Carness. This will be my last warning. Should you keep that girl with you, your quest will fail."

"No," Warren emphasized. "Adane stays. There is nothing she wants more than for our cause to succeed. She is my friend, and I will not leave her out of this."

"She's caused you trouble before," Fen'Harel countered. "The Mayor's meeting with the Cleric Arlington was of vital importance, and she nearly ruined it."

Warren winced at the reminder. "We were unprepared. In any case, it turned out all right. She rushes into things before thinking them through sometimes, but her skills and knowledge are invaluable to the New Inquisition."

It was Fen'Harel's turn to grimace. "Your softness will be your downfall," he warned.

"I am curious about something," Warren began, eager to change the topic. "You asked me to guarantee the Inquisitor's safety. Why would you do that knowing what lies at the heart of our purpose?"

"It was selfish of me to do so," Fen'Harel answered wistfully. "No one can truly guarantee her safety. Or her life." He turned his back to Warren. "Not even I." There were layers upon layers of bitterness in those three words. Regrets and frustrations. 

"I assure you," Warren placed a hand on his chest, "that she will be quite safe once we have her. I don't intend to allow her into any danger."

"She will not appreciate your concern. If anything, she will jump at any chance to throw herself into harm's way." More bitterness in those words. More disapproval. Yet here, too, Warren sensed a tinge of admiration - a certain dose of respect. "Do you truly think you can cage someone like the Inquisitor?" the elf chuckled. Once again, the sound didn't echo. "It would certainly be amusing to see you try."

"You speak of her like she is a wild animal," Warren raised a brow.

"You'll understand when you meet her, Carness." Fen'Harel's voice lowered, turning heated. "She is not a woman easily tamed."

 _I already know that,_ Warren thought, a pang of sadness searing at his heart.

"About the second part of the bargain," he ventured out loud. "I'm still not sure whether we can manage it. As I said, we lack the means and the resources for such an endeavor."

"Take the lands I've offered, then. And the stronghold with them."

"What?" Warren stood up from his seat on the fountain. "You mean _now?"_

"What better time is there? I should think your meager operation in Alderdeen is more of a burden than anything beneficial. Corruption surrounds you, and as time passes, the Chantry will send more forces to occupy the town. They are as bloodhounds on the scent now. They _know_ she is nearby, and they will do whatever it takes to get their hands on her, even if it means killing everyone in their way."

"But your payment - "

"- can wait," the elf finished for him. "I have other dealings to attend to. In the meantime, do what you can with what I've provided." His hand slipped into his robe and withdrew a piece of parchment. He slid it onto a flat part of the fountain. "This has all the information you need."

Warren picked up the piece of paper, unfolding it and reading the contents. "The Arbor Wilds," he grimaced. "Not exactly a _friendly_ location."

"All the better to keep out unwanted visitors."

"When you said a stronghold, I thought you meant a castle. A fortress." Warren lowered the parchment and glared at his ally. "What's this about a temple?"

"You'll understand when you see it."

"Won't it be guarded?"

"Those who once protected it have long gone. The temple is abandoned, its purpose vanishing with its inhabitants."

"Aren't such structures usually well-hidden?"

"Someone will meet you on the outskirts of the Wilds." The elf shifted his weight between his feet. He raised a hand, emerald light gathering around his fingers. "I've arranged for a guide. You won't have to look for him. He will find _you._ Be aware, however, that before you leave Alderdeen, there is one other you must take with you."

"Who?"

"The Inquisitor will know." The light in the elf's hand grew brighter. Smoke gathered at his feet. Warren shuddered. The feeling from earlier returned -- like ice scraping up his spine.

"You're leaving?" Warren asked.

"It is past time I moved on."

"Wait, but -"

"I understand. You still have many questions. I have no doubt you were expecting more out of this meeting."

"To say the least," Warren scowled. "You _promised_ me more." His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. "You swore you would give us aid, that you would fight alongside us. You _do_ understand that hundreds of people are risking their lives, _everything they have_ , in order to support us, don't you? If this temple fails us, if _you_ fail us, then we are doomed."

Fen'Harel's face emptied of all emotion. "You are mortal," he said. "It is the way of the mortal world to be full of strife one moment and blinding happiness the next. Struggle. Fight. Do all you can to flail against the coming tide. Because you are mortal, you have the strength of heart to rise up against the will of those who would chain you. And because you have only a limited time in the world, you cannot afford to make a mistake. If you are not strong enough to overcome the obstacle before you, then you will fall and be lost to the annals of history."

"What does that mean?" Warren asked, frustrated as more and more of the elf's body began to disappear. "What does any of that have to do with what we're trying to do? Are you saying that all this is meant to fail? That everything we're been working towards won't succeed?"

"I promised you aid, and I have given it. I never said I would fight with you, nor did I make any predictions about how any of this would end. What you seek is not for a mortal to know." His eyes burned with warning. "It is not for _anyone_ to know."

Panicking, Warren reached out a hand towards him. "Wait! How will I contact you?"

"You won't," Fen'Harel replied in a monotone. "When it is needed, I will contact _you_." Black smoke enveloped the warrior's body. Glowing red eyes reappeared within, menacing and feral. Just before he vanished entirely, Fen'Harel turned his unsettling blue gaze to Warren once more. "You should know that the Inquisitor is more than just a figurehead in all this. Because your cause will serve a certain purpose in the fate of this land, I am lending her to you. Never forget that this arrangement is both temporary and is based on mutual benefit. Should you prove unable to keep your end of the bargain, that arrangement will come to end." Warren held his breath as the elf's eyes boiled with an ominous and unspoken threat.

"She is  _mine_ , Carness, and if you fail me, I  _will_ reclaim her."

"I understand," Warren bowed his head, doing his best to shut away the fury in his mind that clamored to be voiced.

"Keep her safe," Fen'Harel's voice softened. "Protect her where I cannot."

"I swear on my life it will be so," Warren said unevenly. With a gust of frigid wind, Fen'Harel vanished, leaving Warren alone with his stormy thoughts. As soon as he was alone, he cursed. Seeking to relieve his anger somehow, he threw the book he was holding to the ground. It bounced a few times then skidded to a stop. The piece of charcoal he'd been using to sketch the elven ruins earlier fell out and shattered into several fragments. Warren stared at the bent journal with its fragile tattered binding for as long as he could manage before rushing over to pick it up.

"I'm sorry," he said to nothing and no one in particular as he gathered up his things and made his way back to the glowing Eluvian that would take him back to his quarters at the Worn Blessing. The sight he'd found so fascinating and enthralling now seemed ordinary and hollow. 

 _Crossroads indeed,_ he thought bitterly. A fork in the road. Before, it seemed full of promise and possibility. Now, he considered for the first time in months that he might have started something he could never hope to finish. Guilt ate at him. Fen'Harel had never promised an easy path to victory. In his arrogance, Warren allowed himself to think that said victory was guaranteed now that they had such a powerful ally. To hear the same ally imply that things were going to get even harder from now on was a blow to his pride. Things had been hard  _enough_ between finding a sanctuary for his people, locating the Inquisitor, staying away from the Chantry's spies, and gathering everyone without rousing suspicion. That didn't give him an excuse to give up, however. He knew what he signed up for when he started all this. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. Still, somehow he hadn't quite grasped the enormity of his goals. He thought of Adane, out there all alone looking for their future leader, and wondered if she was having similar misgivings about their quest.

 _Of course not_ , he answered himself with a bitter smile. _Adane is more driven than any of us._

Sitting back down on the fountain's edge, Warren took his ragged journal in hand and read over all he'd written about the Crossroads in the past hours. Restless, he turned to one particular entry in the book and read through it several times before snapping the journal shut and examining the cover.

 _"Days to Remember_ " - it read in golden letters. He ran his fingers over the words and looked once more towards the glowing Eluvian that would take him home. He knew his duty, and he had no intention of going back on the vows he'd made. For a moment, though, he wished he could stay here and leave everything behind. He harbored no illusions. One way or another, he would likely die in this quest before he could see justice restored to Thedas. Inquisition and Inquisitor be damned. Why did he have to give up so much just so everyone _else_ could be happy? Why couldn't he think of himself first, as he'd done for years? It was his way, after all, to run away from things that were troublesome and exhausting. He'd been running all his life. First from his family, then from the Order. He'd wasted too many years hiding from the world and cowering from responsibility.

 _I won't run away again,_ he swore. _But..._

Taking out his quill, he turned to the first blank page in the journal after the notes about the Crossroads. He wrote down everything he sensed and felt in this one moment of shame then closed the book and turned to the cover. Right beneath the golden title of the book, he scribbled in: _"Days to Forget_ ". Satisfied, Warren put the journal and quill back in his satchel then walked to the Eluvian and stepped through it, ready to face whatever would come next.


End file.
